The Fifth Heir Book I
by griffon
Summary: Following the publication of HP 6, I abandonned this story, because JKRs universe had become boring and even Snape was no longer fun! I keep it nonetheless online.
1. Dumbledore's Decision

Chapter 1 Dumbledore's Decision  
  
The Headmaster of Hogwarth's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry shook his head. He had decided that there would be absolutely no way to make him change his mind on the subject, even so he admitted to himself, that the Potions Master's arguments were logical and to the point.  
  
Severus Snape gave a deep sigh. For the better part of an hour he has kept himself under control, sitting on an armchair in front of Albus Dumbledore, sipping a cup of tea and defending his position in a unemotional and soft voice. But this last stubborn refusal of the Headmaster simply was to much for the younger man. He put the teacup down and lifted his slender lean frame, clad in wide black robes from the chair. With Dumbledore still saying 'No, no, and no!' behind him, he started to pace the Headmasters Office with long, energetic strides, the floating wide and dark robes giving him the appearance of a huge, menacing bat:" The Potter boy,' he almost spit between clenched teeth," after that damned, silly Triwizzard tournament ,Diggory's death and all the other terrible things that happened this year...Albus I cannot and will not accept your decision." Angrily Snape flung his dark frame onto Dumbledore's divan. The old piece of furniture squealed, while the portraits of Hogwart's Headmasters long gone bay frowned in disapproval at the Potions Masters behaviour. Meanwhile the dark high-collared and heavy robes had become to much of a burden for Severus. He felt handicapped for performing his next outburst with all that warm heavy fabric around. His right hand impatiently fumbled the multitude of buttons open.  
  
Dumbledore observed the younger man with an amused smile on his face and prepared for what would be the last stage in their habitual pre-summer term holidays discussion about Harry Potter. He'd seen it by now often enough. When calm arguments and wild aggressiveness would go to nowhere, Severus had the particularity to go for muscle play and bullying his furniture. The younger man, now delivered of his wizards robes and displaying washed-out muggle blue jeans and a grey tee-shirt had already built up his lean frame behind the wooden armchair in front of Dumbledore's table, intending to snatch the poor piece of furniture by its wooden back and smashing it violently into the ground. The armchair in anticipation of its trial moaned.  
  
"Severus, can you destroy another one please?», the Headmaster said mockingly", That one already had its account last summer, don't you remember!" In fact, Dumbledore thought, they'd all had had their account twelve years earlier, when he had pronounced his decision to make Harry Potter , 'The-Boy-who-Lived' stay with his muggle relatives in Privet Drive 4, after his parents had been assassinated by Lord Voldemort. That terrible night Harry's godfather Sirius Black had simply bent to the old wizard's decision, while Severus Snape had gone mad and ravaged his innocent furniture not with spells or hexes, but muggle-style with naked hands.  
  
"Severus, he'll go back to the Dursley's and by now you should understand the reason why. How often shall I repeat to you that I will not allow him to France and to the Chateau. How often must I tell -especially you- that this is the only way to ensure that we'll get him back unharmed and in one piece on September 1st?" The armchair's wooden back was released. A dangerous smile floated on Snape's lips:» What do you imagine, Albus? I take him straight to Avalon and throw him right into the Cauldron of Ceridwen..." The Potions Masters pitch black eyes sparkled," I simply speak about giving the lad a break, getting him out of that loveless hands of his silly unfeeling relatives, where all he can expect is kicks and humiliation. How shall he ever grow up to become a self-assured and balanced personality, when these Dursley bunch does nothing else but mistreat and starve him? How shall he ever start to behave normally, when all they do is torment him, for being a wizard? Albus, that simply cannot work," he added with a calm voice,» haven't you realized by now, that all those stupid things and hero-playing he's doing is simply an effort to attract other peoples attention, admiration and affection. If the lad continuous, he'll kill himself one day or another, before finishing school!"  
  
Dumbledore stood up and went around the table. He put his hands on Snape's shoulders almost soothingly:" You have more then a point in what you say, Severus! You brought all these arguments forward twelve years ago and I never ever told you, you were wrong. I understood always, that your family would have taken the boy happily, your mother and father bringing him up as one of their own, having spoilt him with love and affection and toys and pets and whatever a child can dream of...but you must also admit that we would have run a great risk to do that!"  
  
Snape wanted to snap on the Headmaster that life is full of risks anyhow, but then decided against his hot temper and simply nodded.  
  
"Imagine what could have come out, if we allow 'The boy-who-lived' to be raised in the old religion. Do you know exactly, what Harry absorbed, when his mother's Amatus Spell repulsed his Unforgivable Death Spell? He's a Parslemouth! The twin of Voldemort's wand has chosen Harry! He has powers beyond his age...If Voldemort's energy has overpowered his mother's love, we'll find ourselves one day with something far worse then Voldemort....a Dark Druid!"  
  
Snape sighted and started to rub thoughtfully the raven brand mark between his eyebrows. The sign of the old religion was visible only to those initiated and to those of the old bloodline, descending directly from Merlin and Viviane. "The ancestors and the Old One would have told us, Albus! Anyhow, today I do not ask you to give me the boy to have him raised in the old religion but simply to allow him spend his summer holidays in a better environment and without these bullying Dursleys!"  
  
"And you can guarantee me, my friend, that young Harry will not come in touch with anything the old way, the Order or the Power?", Dumbledore replied softly.  
  
Snape nodded. Harry would only see, what everybody else, including muggles, could also see: An ancient, imposing Fortress, one of the most beautiful forests of France, endless green prairies full of horses and cattle and a large, boisterous family...It would perhaps somewhat come as a shook to Harry, that the ditty old bat of Potions Master of his was not booked in for 24 hours of sour faces, black robes and spiteful words, but he was sure that he could handle the issue without blowing his cover or giving away an inch of one of the best guarded secrets of the Magic World. "Well then, have your will and do as you please!" The Headmaster said, "I will talk to Harry and inform his relatives that he is not going to spent the summer holidays with them!"  
  
Snape turned away from Dumbledore, picked up his black robes and transformed back into the ditty old bat the students where used to see around Hogwart's. "Thank you, Albus!", was all he said before leaving the Headmaster's office.  
  
- Chapter 2 


	2. The Beginning

Chapter 2 The Beginning  
  
The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge had simply refused to believe Dumbledore. He would not admit that Voldemort was rising again. Fudge defended the thesis that Barty Crouch had simply been deluded into thinking that he was acting for and on behalf of the Dark Lord. And all the Minister of Magic stated, when it came to Harry Potter was that the boy must be prone to hallucinations due to the intense stress he had been through with the dramatic ending of the Triwizzard Tournament. Fudge almost sounded like a copy of Rita Skeeter's articles in the 'Daily Prophet'. Either the Minister of Magic refused to see his routine compromised by the return of the Dark Lord, and preferred to believe against all odds that all was in order, or .......  
  
When Dumbledore had advised Fudge that a terrible battle was soon to start and when he wanted to convince him that he should dismiss the Dementors from Azkaban, because these creatures could not be trusted and would betray the Ministry to Voldemort on first occasion, the man had only become aggressive and stubborn and had told the Headmaster of Hogwarts off, like a schoolboy. He had even menaced him with dismissal as Headmaster of Hogwarts, if ever he should continue to spread his lore of the Dark Lord's rising back to power.  
  
Nevertheless and contrary to Fudge's instructions, Dumbledore had closed the school year by announcing to the students that Lord Voldemort had risen again and terrible times were coming. Now with a gloomy end-of-year feast over, honours given to the memory of Cedric Diggory and the bravery of Harry Potter, he would turn his attention to gathering all potential allies in order to prepare for the battle with Voldemort. He had already advised Harry to lie low in the summer and although the boy was a bit surprised, when he learned that for once he would not be obliged to board the Hogwarts Train to return home to the Dursleys, he did not question Dumbledore. While writing down a letter for the giants, which would leave together with Hagrid and Madame Maxime in a few hours, he could not but smile. How would Harry react, when he learned with whom he'd spent his two summer months? Dumbledore put his feather down and called for Dobby.  
  
With a light 'pop' the house-elf appeared in the Headmaster's Office.  
  
"Would you be kind enough and get Harry Potter over to me, Dobby!', Dumbledore asked.  
  
Dobby, wearing a cheeky children sweater with a huge bear hugging a honey pot and bright red shorts nodded happily and disappeared with yet another 'pop' straight to the Griffindor Tower.  
  
Harry had been gazing out of the window of the now empty and silent Common Room of the Griffindors. Outside there was bright sunshine, birds were singing in the trees, the giant squeal was drifting lazily on the surface of the lake enjoying the warm weather. He was thinking about paying Hagrid a visit, but then refuted this idea, because Hagrid would most certainly be occupied with packing his trunk and getting things ready to accompany Madame Maxime first to France and then to the mountains where the giants lived. The boy knew accidentally about Dumbledore's plans and his efforts to gather allies for what was to come with Voldemort back on his way to power, because Hagrid had slipped a word.  
  
Anyhow, the weather was fine and instead of staying inside, a walk and some lazing in the sun would be much better then to disappear behind a book or concentrating too much on the recent events that had brought the Triwizzard Tournament to such a dramatic end. Summer in Hogwarts was much more promising then summer with the Dursleys.  
  
Even though he'd be short of company, with Hermione going to Victor Krum's place in Bulgaria for the vacations and Ron and all the other Weasleys off to see some distant relatives over in America, he could still think about thousands of nice things he would do here. He'd ride his broomstick over the vast grounds of the school, enjoy the nice food the house-elves where almost forcing upon him and perhaps...he'd even get permission to go to Hogsmeade from time to time. Harry decided with a huge smile on his face that this would be a good summer, his first good summer for as long as he could think. He turned from the window to go up the staircase to the boys dormitory to dress in comfortable stuff and to pick his broomstick, when suddenly Dobby appeared in front of him with a 'pop'.  
  
" Headmaster Dumbledore wants to see Harry Potter!", the tiny house-elf beamed at him, "Headmaster needs to speak with him about the holidays!"  
  
Harry nodded and padded Dobby's head:» That is good. I will go immediately and ask him, if he allows me to stroll around Hogsmeade!'  
  
About an hour later, when Harry returned from the Headmasters office, his good humour and holiday plans had all fallen to pieces. He looked, as if he'd met a mountain troll, when he entered Griffindor Common Room through the portrait of the Fat Lady. Perhaps two months with the Dursley's would have been a more enchanting thing then what he was now up too. Dumbledore had informed him with a large smile on his face that he was to pack his trunk and belongings. He'd be off for two months with......Snape! Harry simply shock his head in despair.  
  
How could Dumbledore send him away with the man that hated him most, since he set foot into Hogwarts. For the last three years the scary Potions Master had not missed one single occasion to be mean with him. If ever Harry would cumulate all the points that ditty old bat had taken away from Griffindor because of him, he could probably make it up to 1000. He remembered at least 5 occasions, when the bat put tremendous efforts into getting him expelled. During his first year, when he started as a seeker for the Griffindor Quidditch team, the nasty bastard even tried to hex him off his broom to give his own House Slytherin the chance to win a match. Harry trembled with rage. No, he'd not go with this villain to some dark and gloomy manor haunted by 500 terrible ghosts to spend his two summer months down in a dungeon, revising potions' homework. Dumbledore could tell him as often as he liked, that he should never judge the book by its cover. He knew, that if ever he went with Snape he'd spend the most horrible holidays a boy could imagine. He'd send Hedwig with a letter to Sirius his godfather. Perhaps Sirius would be able to free him from the grips of that evil death-eater and the Headmaster, who most probably had gone completely mad, since he understood that the Dark Lord was back on his way to power.  
  
"Well, getting ourselves ready, Potter?"  
  
The boy suddenly heard a soft voice.  
  
" Looking tremendously happy, aren't we!" it continued.  
  
Harry turned around just to bump into a lean frame that had appeared from nowhere in the Griffindor's common room. There were no black robes swishing around the frame and no menacing long nostrils quivering in excitement, shortly before delivering a new, mortal blow on a favourite victim.  
  
"How did you get into our common room?", was all Harry heard himself mumble to his utter surprise.  
  
Snape moved a step back to allow Harry to resettle himself and to calm down. He had no intention of frightening a shit out of the kid. The school term was over and they were about to try and get along with each other for the next eight weeks. " Chimney over there!", he smiled at the shaking kid.  
  
Harry slowly lifted his head. There were no black robes and no greasy hair hanging over a furious face. In front of him stood someone he'd never ever had recognized, if he would not have known that it must be the ditty old bat. Raven black shiny curls where neatly arranged in a long ponytail held together by a leather band. Instead of his habitual school attire that frightened a hell out of the students, Snape was in washed-out jeans, a tee- shirt and a blue denim shirt with sleeves up, showing clearly the dark mark on his right forearm.  
  
"Well," he repeated with a smile, "Getting your trunk ready? We've a port key in less then 2 hours and if we miss that one, we are in a mess!"  
  
Harry was petrified. He did not even reply, but simply nodded and then made his way towards the staircase up to the boys' dorm to get his things together.  
  
"I'll pick you up in one hour!", he heard Snape's amused voice.  
  
- Chapter 3 


	3. Montmuran

Chapter 3 Montmuran  
  
Exactly sixty minutes after Harry's strange encounter with an even stranger fellow who indeed pretended to be Hogwarts most dreaded teacher, the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open. Severus had only a small bag swung over his shoulder and a huge, grey Norwegian Forest cat under his arm. He made his way up to the boys' dormitory, where he found Harry sitting on his bed in front of his packed trunk with the face of a prisoner, soon to be executed. A cage with Potter's snow owl Hedwig stood nearby. Snape dropped his huge cat on an empty bed and pointed to Hedwig.  
  
" You mind if I send her with a letter. Will be easier for your owl then going by port key!"  
  
"No, help yourself, Sir!", Harry replied gloomily, his eyes staring down on the floor.  
  
"Severus!", the boy heard a soft voice.  
  
"Sorry, Professor?"  
  
Snape set down on the bed next to the boy. Long, slender fingers gently lifted the kid's face up.  
  
" You can call me by my first name, if you wish so and 'No', I have no intention of eating you for breakfast or throwing you into a dungeon......or spoil your summer holidays!"  
  
His pitch black eyes where not menacing as usual, but a little bit sad and thoughtful. He took a deep breath, then he stood up, opened Hedwig's cage and fixed a piece of parchment to her leg. The big, white snow owl eagerly flew out of the open window. Then he pointed his wand on Harry's trunk, diminishing its size to no more then a matchbox. The matchbox disappeared in his bag.  
  
" Come on now, kid! "  
  
Severus' big cat jumped from the empty bed and made already for the staircase. Harry trotted some steps behind with hanging head and shoulders. They left the school building and made for the direction of Hagrid's hut and the Forbidden Forest.  
  
"Where are we going, Professor Snape?", Harry asked almost inaudibly. Somehow he did not dare to call the Potions master by his first name, although he had authorized him to do so, only a few minutes earlier.  
  
"First to pick up my 'luggage', then to Montmuran!"  
  
Before Harry could ask what Snape's luggage could be or where Montmuran was, the boy saw Hagrid's massive body covering the ground leading a seemingly nervous and upset dark brown horse towards them.  
  
" Hullo Severus,", the gamekeeper cried," your little boy was not very pleased when I retrieved him from his favourite past time on the prairie! Had to chase him for almost 10 minutes before he decided to obey and come with me. I think you should better get him off to France as quick as possible!"  
  
"Mordred does not like to travel by port key," the Potions Master explained matter- of-factly to Harry, before he took the horse from Hagrid,"but I simply could not figure out how to apparate at once an unwilling horse, an unwilling kid and an unwilling cat without loosing half of your spare parts somewhere between here and Montmuran!"  
  
"I think it is better I see the four of you off?", the gamekeeper enquired, "If ever your pet does not agree to make the ride!" Then he bent down to cuddle the huge Norwegian Forest cat that sat by Snape's side just like a well-educated dog,» And you are lucky, Marie, that Fang is not out with me!" Hagrid joked, "Fang's loving to chase that spoiled fur ball!" He explained to Harry. Then he stopped:» Gosh, kid! You're looking not very happy, although you are off for a wonderful holiday trip. What happened?"  
  
Harry lifted his head and gave Snape a desperate glance.  
  
"That's it, kid! Didn't Headmaster Dumbledore tell you that you'll be fine with Sev. You'll see he's much more fun than those muggles of yours on Privet Drive....and the food is much better!"  
  
'Fun!', Harry could not but give a smile, 'He'd never ever even dared to associate two words - Snape and fun! But in a sense Hagrid was right to that point. For the first time since they knew each other, the Potion Master had neither insulted nor bullied him for a record time of 30 minutes. Perhaps after all Dumbledore was right, when he advised him not to judge the book by its cover.  
  
"Well, it's time to go! You mind taking the cat and holding it firmly?" Snape asked Harry before handing him part of the rope that was attached to the horse's bridle.  
  
"12h30, special lift to France, Ille et Villaine, Montmuran! Attention heavy cargo." , a voice said.  
  
The next thing Harry heard was a horse neighing furiously and Marie giving an upset and angry 'Miau'. When he opened his eyes he stood on a pont- levis, facing to his left and right two enormous towers.  
  
"Welcome to Montmuran!", he heard his Potions Master's amused voice.  
  
And before Harry even could recover from the shock of travelling by port key with a half mad horse, a terrified cat and a mocking Hogwarts teacher he found himself already surrounded by a bunch of boisterous Snape-like creatures of various age and sex, which hugged and embraced him and chattered in an absolutely incomprehensible language.  
  
"Oh mais il est mignon! Tu dois avoir une faim de loup, mon garçon! Le voyage c'est bien passé..... ! »  
  
Without giving any translation or even better explanations, Severus Snape had extricated himself from the bunch, leading his still upset and bad- humoured 'pet' over the pont-levis and towards a long stables building. He was fairly confident that his family would handle Harry for the next thirty minutes, giving him the time to have 'Mordred' have a drink and some food before releasing him on one of the prairies that where adjacent to the castle and forest.  
  
Harry gave in. There were simply too many of them. A lady in her late sixties with a large grey bun in her neck and a light summer dress with flowers seemed to be the ditty old bat's mother. Somehow Harry understood that her name was Genevieve and that she intended to stuff him with cake and coffee. When they had crossed the pont-levis into the Chateau de Montmuran, the imposing medieval fortress looked not at all gloomy and dark. The first thing Harry made out was the view on to a vast plain. On the horizon two dozen of church towers sprung up between the slight valleys and the forests. Far away he could make out a town.  
  
"C'est Rennes!", another of the boisterous bunch explained.  
  
He was the least Snape-like of them all, harbouring a short haircut, a snow white short beard and an impressive frame with broad shoulders. He had visibly a military past from his upright composure and commanding voice. He was well into his seventies but still displayed vigour and liveliness. As far as Harry had understood, he was Snape's father and although the bunch mockingly addressed him with 'Général', the name the elderly lady had used was 'Aurelian'.  
  
Harry was shocked. He'd never expected the ditty old bat to have any family or relatives at all. And now he was surrounded by at least a dozen of them.  
  
In a beautiful old-fashioned garden full of roses and strong-smelling flowers the boy had never seen before, he found himself pushed into a chair in front of a long table. A big piece of cake appeared in front of him and a nice cup of hot chocolate. Perhaps these holidays would not be so bad at all. Seemingly nobody had an intention to starve him or to lock him up in a dungeon and apart the fact that he did not understand a word of what that bunch said in French, they were all warm, friendly and forthcoming. Harry decided that he would give his cake and chocolate a try.  
  
- Chapter 4 


	4. The 'Old One'

Chapter 4 The Old One  
  
'Le Général' poured himself another glass of wine and listened to his son's account in silence. Severus had by now related all the events during the Triwizzard Tournament including the Goblet of Fire turning into a port key and carrying Harry Potter off to Lord Voldemort.  
  
" And this is how the monster managed to mix his blood with the boy's!", Snape concluded. His voice was sad and there lay a dark shadow of sorrow over his eyes. "Wormtail, also known as Peter Pettigrew had made a potion with the bones of his father, his own flesh, and Harry Potter's blood for Voldemort. He got his body back," explained Severus in a monotone voice.  
  
"Just another step to bring him closer to power.........He recalls his followers, doesn't he?", stated Aurelien Rogue[1] de la Bédoyere, Comte de Villeon et Duc de Bretagne. "Did he...?" The old man pointed his finger on the Dark Mark on Severus' right forearm.  
  
"Yes, 'papa' but it was not the very best moment to react and skip away from Hogwarts to join that brood again and play his faithful Death Eater! Anyhow, he'll not wait for long before reassembling his followers and I'll figure out something to make him believe that it were cowardice and weakness that kept me away from him on his first call!"  
  
Aurelian snored angrily at the last words of his son. Cowardice and weakness were not particular traits of character in his family. For almost one thousand years those of the blood had served their country well, was it Brittany or France, magic or human. Since Merlin had first thrown in his knowledge and power with the House of Pendragon to free humans and magic creatures alike from the forces of Darkness, they'd always served well. It was this old bond with the British Isles that fifteen years ago had convinced him to let one of his sons go and join forces with Albus Dumbledore, although their kin had not been treated nicely on the other side of the Channel for the last eight centuries.  
  
"Severus," the General replied in a low, menacing voice, "Never ever again use the words 'cowardice' and 'weakness' in my presence. I insist that you go and see the Old One before taking any inconsiderate step that you may regret afterwards. You've already once paid a high price and I do not intend to put your life or the existence of the Order at stake. They decided to turn away from the old religion and from the old gods just to avoid long and difficult training to ensure that powerful magic is well handled by a conscious and responsible elite for the benefit of many. Now they find themselves again confronted with a dark wizard....It is no business of ours to each time clean up their mess......"  
  
Snape gave his father a mocking smile. Then he stood up and strode over to a chimney piece on which a couple of silver-framed simple muggle photographs stood. He gave a short glance to one of them. It was black and white but had slightly turned into yellow with age. A black satin band was slung over one edge. The engraving under the photograph read "Capitaine Livius Rogue de la Bédoyere, 1894-1915". Severus lifted the frame carefully from the chimney piece and turned to his father.  
  
« Le Chemin des Dames! », it had been one of the most horrible butcheries of the 1st World War. The younger man returned with the frame and placed it back on the chimney piece. He chose another of the photographs. There was no engraving on it and no black band. It showed two men in their 20ies in battle fatigues, holding easily Sten machine guns in their hands. They leaned against an Army Jeep and smiled broadly. In the background the Arc of Triumph and the Champs Elysées were visible. Severus turned around again:» This one you remember well, don't you? How often did you relate to us the day when Paris was free again, when Leclerc's Tank Division was the first to enter the Capital and when it was all over after five long years. From France to Africa, from Africa back to France..........you'd chosen a uniform in those days, but you'd chosen to fight against the darkness. Do not try and convince me that I shall sit in an armchair by my fireside and cross legs, while outside the world is going upside down. There is no more theirs and ours today. Even though the old ways are slowly fading away, we cannot speak of their world and ours: There is just one place for all of us and we must try and keep it alive and going together...."  
  
Aurelian stood up from his chair and went to embrace his son. He pressed him firmly against his broad chest. His eyes were sad and proud at once. In a last attempt to change Severus mind he softly murmured into his ear: "I have already given a child to the cause. I do not want to lose another one! I do not want to live again through what we have been living through when your brother died...."  
  
"Papa, please! Don't...." Severus murmured back. "I promise that I will not do anything unconsidered, but accept that I must do what I believe is right."  
  
Harry stared with eyes wide open on his room. He had understood from Genevieve that this was the 'Chambre de Guesclin', although he did not know who de Guesclin was. There were large granite-sculpted windows and an enormous chimney which allowed to burn full size trees. Adjacent to 'Chambre de Guesclin' was a kind of medieval sauna, they called 'étuve', with basins for hot and cold water and a heating system within the floor and walls. A beautiful granite spiral staircase led up to a first floor and a fortified door. There were gobelins and paintings on the walls, some of them clearly magic, because their motives moved, others muggle. They showed people in clothing from times long gone bye, knights in armour, ladies in long robes, unicorns, horses, hunting dogs. It was more a museum then a guests' room. In the middle of the room stood an enormous but obviously comfortable bed with a baldachin. There were some bookshelves and a large chest. His trunk had been brought up, and Hedwig sat on a wooden falcons' display with a carved food bowl and glass water bowl.  
  
Genevieve showed Harry a bell string and said in French:" C'est pour les elves, si tu on a besoin, mon garçon!", then suddenly she slapped her forehead with her hand and smiled :"Mais...Nous sommes vraiment bêtes!"  
  
From her robes a wand appeared and she pointed it towards Harry:'Lingua'.  
  
Snape's mother gave a satisfied smile :"That is better, isn't it, Harry! We did not think at all about the fact that you may not speak French!"  
  
To his utter surprise Harry replied:" No, I never learned your language at school!", without any effort or accent. Then the boy gave a large smile: 'Wow, how did you do that? That's cool!"  
  
Genevieve laughed and took him into her arms:"C'est magique! And now go to sleep and have beautiful dreams. You had a very long day and if you want to enjoy your holidays you must be rested." She turned away and the huge wooden door to the 'Chambre de Guesclin' swung close behind Snape's mother.  
  
Harry caressed Hedwig, then quickly took of his clothes and fell on the huge comfortable bed. He had not seen anything of this ditty old bat of Potions Master, since he had delivered him to his family and the Chateau de Montmuran. Perhaps Snape had simply delivered a parcel for and on behalf of Dumbledore and he would not see his horrible teacher for the rest of his summer holidays. Judging from the size of the fortress there were certainly glorious dungeons with enough space for Snape to hide, brew potions and stay out of everybody's way....although his family was really nice and Harry had felt instantly at ease with Genevieve and 'Le Général'.  
  
- Chapter 5  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
----------------------- [1] In the French translation of Harry Potter Severus Snape became Severus Rogue: It is a game of words that I am playing here, so do not wonder about his family having 'another' name: They do not...apart from the long wormtail, which is historically linked with the medieval fortress Montmuran in Brittany's Ille-et-Villaine department, near the town of Rennes. Brittany is a very 'magic' place : It harbours the Brocéliande Forest, where legend tells us, Merlin remains forever in the trees and the nature..... 


	5. On Light and Darkness

Chapter 5 On Light and Darkness  
  
Harry had to admit that he enjoyed himself thoroughly!  
  
After Diggory' death and the end of the Triwizzard Tournament he had been feeling very bad indeed: During the last days at school he felt all other students' eyes upon him. He had been unable to read their eyes: Was it reproachful glances, because he had been unable to save Diggory and bring him back alive? Was there a hint of fear because he had fought with Voldemort and returned unscathed? Was it admiration or envy? Harry did not understand the general attitude, but he had been terribly uncomfortable with it. He was tired to always stand out. He was tired to always be considered someone special, because of the scar and because he was 'The-boy- who-lived'. The constant pressure of proving something to himself or to the others was too much for him.  
  
Fortunately things were different here at Montmuran; nobody gave him strange glances. They simply treated him like a 15 years old boy on holidays. They did not tell him that he was something special. Nobody tried to drown him with pity or regrets or even worse... favouritism.  
  
By now Harry had found out that part of the bunch were brothers and sisters of Snape, while others where grandchildren of Genevieve and Aurelian. In France old wizards' families seemed to have an enormous amount of children, contrary to the English habit, where pureblood families fancied only one single child and looked down on families like the Weasleys who had more kids.  
  
Snape's mother's and father's attitude towards him was the same they had with their grandchildren; kind, attentive, slightly permissive and caring. Harry could claim exactly the same amount of their time they allocated to each other kid around, not more, not less, neither better nor worse.  
  
He had already figured out that there were rules of the game at the fortress: Probably such a large family reunion for the whole summer could not work without unwritten laws: Everybody was free to do whatever he liked during the day, but at diner they'd all be together and share time with each other. When the table was lifted everybody was free again to pursue his own interests. It was mainly during these long and cheerful meals that Harry came across Snape. Severus would neither avoid him, nor come near him. His Potions Master simply seemed to live a life of his own. Harry had not made up his mind, if Snape expected him to take a first step and approach him or if it was simply a form of courtesy of his, knowing that the boy did not very much appreciate him and therefore preferred perhaps more distance.  
  
The other children around were ok, most of them attended Beaubaxtons, but two of them went to Durmstrang on a students exchange program and one had just finished a German school Harry never had heard of and was about to enter a muggle military academy named 'St.Cyr'. This military thing seemed to be a family tradition, Harry had found out. Snape's father was really a general, but he had retired from service a long time ago and now cared mainly about breeding horses and Holstein cows, which were reputed to give enormous quantities of milk. Snape himself had some mysterious military past they called 'conscription' and a girl who liked Quidditch' and who was eager to go to Hogwarts as an exchange student after her fifth year at Beaubaxtons -Morigan- was half-orphan because of this tradition: Her father, Severus eldest brother had been an officer with the French Army, more precisely the French Foreign Legion's 2.Régiment Etranger des Parachutistes and he had been killed by 'friendly fire' on a deep penetration mission into Iraq during the Gulf War in 1991.  
  
The kids all seemed to know that their uncle had kind of a reputation as a teacher but assured Harry that out of school he was good fun. They spent most of their time together, riding broomsticks and horses, playing tennis or lazing in a huge swimming pool. From time to time Genevieve and the General would take them to the seaside which was really beautiful and on one occasion they had been to the town of Rennes for muggle-style shopping, ice cream-eating and a trip to the cinema.  
  
Harry had learned that the French ways were very much different from Great Britain: Beaubaxton was not a boarding school. They all went home to their parents in the evening. Somehow French parents could not cope with the idea of not seeing their kids for a full school term. Weekends were habitually occasions to apparate from the capital Paris to Montmuran. Family apparently was something sacrosanct and never put in question or doubt. Although they were obviously extremely rich, there was no display of it and no boosting, as for example Draco Malfoy always did at Hogwarts. Harry had learned by now, that this was 'not done' because France was a Republic, and they were all equals - magic and non-magic folks alike.  
  
The kids had heard about the Hogwarts tradition of sorting pupils into houses but none could figure out, what this could be good for. They had all the strange habit of calling their parents, grandparents and family by first name, while being at the same time extremely respectful. School was a subject none of them discussed: they either said it was ok or regretted that summer holidays were only two months long. All kids were very much aware of what happened in the muggle world and they had no apprehension whatever of words like pureblood, mudblood or muggle. The girl -Morigan- had tried to explain to Harry something about the French Revolution, 1789 and Napoleon Bonaparte, a powerful Corsican Wizard who got his act wrong in 1804 when he proclaimed himself Emperor of France, a story the family had obviously been mixed up with on two sides at once and which had ended in a big clash somewhere in Belgium on a battlefield called Waterloo eleven years later in 1815.  
  
By now Harry had understood that Montmuran had its house elves, but they were treated like family members because of this French Revolution thing and 'Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité". So you would kindly ask them to do something, but they were not obliged to obey you. The house elves had weekends, holidays and the right to go on strike (which they never did - as a matter of honour) and they all wore clothes. Harry had also realised that although they spend a lot of time with having lunches and diners, this strange bunch did not eat anything from warm-blooded animals and that there was a lot of fuzz about 'religion' and things that you could or could not do because of the gods you would upset. He had also figured out that Snape himself had been to a very conservative and old fashioned school with a religious touch -Avalon- before coming to Hogwarts after his fifth year and as an exchange student only. He had never been sorted into Slytherin House. Albus Dumbledore had sent him there..........and Severus seemed to be single because of vows he had taken and which forbade him to marry and to have children before the age of 45, which meant another ten years to go for the ditty old bat!  
  
In a certain sense Harry did not understand anything anymore and in another sense he was quite happy not to understand what they were all talking about. He simply enjoyed his holidays and the good company and he was grateful that nobody considered him something special. And with the sore back he had from his horse-riding lesson of this day he considered it much more intelligent not to put his nose into things that did not regard him. His bed looked so nice and a considerate house elf had put a big glass of warm milk on the bedside table. Harry decided this occasion to get some rest should not be missed. He went over to the window were Hedwig sat on her falcon's display to caress her and looked up to the moon and then out on to the forest. Hermione would already have put the library of Montmuran upside down to get herself answers....or she would have driven everybody mad with questions, questions, questions. Harry simply shrugged his shoulders:"Well, they are French!", was all he concluded" And I think I should speak with McGonagall or Dumbledore to find out, if after the fifth year at Hogwarts I could not go to Beaubaxton for a year or two.........That would be real fun...and since Genevieve put such a considerate language spell on me....." Harry turned away from the stars and the forest and his already sleeping snow owl. It took him less then a minute to drink the milk, slip under his blankets and fall asleep.  
  
Severus took a deep breath, then he closed his eyes and stepped into the stone ring. It was not an easy decision to go and see the 'Old One', nothing to be done light-heartedly or without very good reasons. It had cost him almost two weeks of reflection before he had been sure that he needed to cross the border and lift the veil. He knew only to well that this step into the stone ring would be a terrible trial and although he looked forward to see the 'Old One' again after such a long time he was frightened of the effort it would take him. He had done it before, but there had always been his father with him: To bring him back from behind the veil, in case his own powers were not strong enough or he was to fagged from the 'journey'! Only once he had crossed the veil alone. It had been the ultimate trial, the moment of truth, where their kind would either return with the raven mark or not return at all........He went to the centre of the stone ring, took another deep breath then stretched out his arms and concentrated. He locked his eyes on the stars. After a while his body crumbled to the ground and his soul crossed the border. First, when he lifted the veil he went through darkness and he was shivering, because he knew of the horrors, then he saw a bright light, which was almost blinding his eyes, and he felt warmth, comfort and security. Severus bent his knee, arms still stretched out. His head acknowledged a slight bow.  
  
"Rise!", the 'Old One' commanded. 


	6. The Ring of Stones

Thanks for all the reviews! I am pleased you like the story and plot.

Now, I owe some answers and explanations: No, Harry is not related with Snape!

And Harry did not see a lot of Severus during these two weeks, because Snape was on for his holiday pasttimes with Harry, well..........riding broomsticks, lazing at the pool, enjoying tennis with the other kids and getting himself spoilt with trips to the seaside and sightseeing at Rennes! Now it is up to you, what the ditty old bat choses to do during summer holidays............this will come a bit later in the story, but I assure you, he is not down in the dungeons, brewing potions!

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Chapter 6 The Ring of Stones

The ,Old One' gave Severus a pleased look:"You have become even more powerful, since I saw you last time and I can feel that you are finally capable to keep the craft and the power in equilibrium. But this is not reason enough ………Why did you come alone to see me?"

Severus fixed the ground for a short while. „ I simply need your advice, Merlin! The Dark Lord has recovered a body. It is just an empty shell, but filled with the darkest magic: He has ressurected with the help of a potion composed from the bones of his father, the blood of his enemy and the flesh of his servant."

„Are you sure?", the ‚Old One' looked a little bit startled.

Severus shrug his shoulders:"I have not been there, but this is what the boy related and knowing Harry, I can only conclude that he tells us the truth." 

That's pretty odd stuff to get yourself back into life, Severus……….particularly for a Dark Lord who has Voldemorts pretentions! Did anybody ever fully understand what happened when he lost his powers and his physical form after the attempt kill of the boy?"

Snape shrug shoulders again:"As you know, there are several theories. Albus Dumbledore believes it was his own spell that backfired on him, because of Harry's mother protective spell, which must have been extremely strong and I dare say………this is the most logic explanation!"

„Are you sure?", Merlin smiled.

Snape returned his smile: ‚No, but what I would consider the most logic explanation is strictly speaking impossible, considering the fact that on the one side you had a Dark Lord in the full strength of his power and on the other side a two-years old toddler…….who was not even armed with a wand……………….. This is very advanced magic to absorb another wizard's powers and to weaken him to the point that he even looses his bodily form!"

Merlin nodded. He had gone through that experience once, more the a thousand years ago, in a time when a terrible struggle between the forces of the light and the forces of darkness ravaged the world. Morgane the Fairy ………………………but they had been of the same background. Morgane had been trained at Avalone and partially trained by himself. She had known his weaknesses and soft spots and this was the reason why she had been able to send him wandering for a while as a soul without a body……….The ‚Old One' with all the knowledge and the experience he held was thinking hard, trying to figure it out……………………….

Severus looked at Merlin in silence. The ‚Old One' had once been through a situation, when another powerful sorcerer had been able to detect his weakest spot and therefore drain him of his body and power. But that had been temporary and Merlin had never even thought about doing some dirty basic black magic trick to fix the mess, although in these days of old, when the Round Table had broken up, the situation was so highly dangerous that the result would have justified the means: The knights of the realm siding either with Arthur Pendragone or with his half-brother Mordred, wagging a highly dangerous internal war. The war spilling over from the British Isles to the continent and the duchies. Avalone was in danger then, too! And at the same time the Vikings and other people of the north started invasions……….Merlin had simply waited until his strength and form came back……There was no secret about this: It was basically the same, when on a lower level a wizard manages to disarm another wizard and take his wand: There is embarassement and helplessness for the moment…………… but either your opponent gives you back the wand or you go and find yourself another one with any of the four reputed wandmakers 

„Severus, is there something special with the boy?", Merlin enquired.

„I am already thinking about this issue for a long time: He's able to speak with snakes and Voldemort is able to do this,too. Harry would be able to communicate with animals in general, I'd say he must be of the old bloodline and we've simply missed him, when he was born. Well, Merlin in one sense or another……………………..but snakes, cold-blooded animals only! That is the most special feature I found with him and a feature he has in common with the Dark Lord."

„ Anything else?"

Snape paced from left to right and back again a few times, then he stopped directly in front of the ‚Old One': „Yes, there is another strange thing with him………….and Voldemort! I did not realize before: When Harry is put under pressure or when he is afraid of something, his power strengthens at once, allowing him to perform magic, which is far beyond his craft………………Merlin, the Dark Lord did this dirty, basic black magic trick to get his body and power back, because as a matter of fact………….he's a fraud! He simply does not know; he has power, but he has no knowledge or only some kind of half-knowledge!„

Merlin nodded:"Only with one difference between him and Harry: Harry had absolutely no control of his power, because he was a dead-frightened two-years old, who only an instant earlier had seen Voldemort kill his mother, which – the Amatus Spell of hers is the proof – loved him so deeply, that she was willing to sacrifice herself for him. Voldemort, only an instant after Harry sees his mother die, throws a ‚Aveda Kedavra' on the child………………., the Dark Lord does not take him serious, because he's a baby, therefore the ‚Aveda Kedavra' is not supported by any strong emotion, but Harry is filled up with emotions the same moment…………"

„So in a certain sense the Dark Lord's own unforgivable spell backfired on him and as he did not expect this at all, he did not protect himself………………..he's been killed by his own spell and did not even realize it. His power was so strong, his craft so meek and humble that he was only concentrated evil……………Merlin, now, if the two of us are right, then we have a real problem: A Demon!"

Merlin gnarrled:" A demon, there is no way to kill a demon: When there is light, there is dark, when there is good, there is evil. This is the balance of nature! All that can be done with a demon, is to contain him."

Snape shook his head. Containing a demon: How? He knew about the dark and about the light. He'd been exposed to both. This was part of the initiation and part of himself. Those of the old religion made no difference between white magic and black magic. For them it was just magic and not an issue. Those of the old religion did neither refute the evil nor acclaim the light, they simply cared about keeping the two of them in balance. It was that balance, found everywhere in nature, that counted: Eat and be eaten, kill and die, procreate and vanish…….."So there will be no way! There is no sense in making a stand against Voldemort?"

Merlin shook his head. „Severus, you cannot understand and I do not expect you to understand. You are far to young............ A demon can be contained; this has been done before. In fact, it is done since the beginning of time. Our ability to contain evil is the reason, why we – magic and non-magic – still exist. And this brings us to the subject on which you wanted my advice!"

Snape nodded. He understood perfectly well, what the ‚Old One' refered to. It would mean for him, that he had to go back to Voldemort! „I have to find out what kind of Demon we have here and then figure out, where his weakness lies. He has a soft spot and if we find it, we can ‚rope' him........."

„Very well," Merlin replied with a satisfied glance at the young man. „But you be extremly careful about what you do...........and make sure, that Voldemort does not come close to Harry. Take care of the boy, try and find a way to make him understand, why he survived the Dark Lord's attack and what has resulted from his powerful self-defense."

Severus gave a sigh. If ever the demon got young Potter back between his evil hands, understanding himself what he and Merlin had figured out, he'd give up his attempts to kill Harry and instead would go for ‚possessing' Harry: Double power married to concentrated evil would make up very nicely for the lack of that creatures craft. He could not help, but at this instance Snape thought about a muggle invention -the Atomic Bomb - a weapon you cannot controll, although you can contain it, but if you release it there is utter devastation and nothing left alive. Voldemort could transform himself into a nuclear cataclysme -so to say - for the magic world.....and perhaps even spill over into the non-magic world!

„Bless your soldier's training, boy!", the ‚Old One' smiled sadly, „ but I am afraid, you are right! Now you should leave. You have already stayed much too long with me and if you stay on, you will not be strong enough to cross the veil and cross the borders of the stone ring!"

Merlin embraced Severus:" Now go and get yourself some rest. We'll meet again soon enough.'

Snape obediently turned away from the light.


	7. Spoils of War

Chapter 7 Spoils of War

  
  


It was hardly worse then a heavy hang over! Severus was surprised when he realized that his visit of the ‚Old One' had not put him into a state of complete physical and emotional exhaustion. 

Habitually he took a couple of days to recover, mostly sleeping because in a nice cosy bed and under a good blanket he would not feel his aching muscles. Probably the ‚Old One' was right, when he said that his power had grown stronger over the last few years. 

  
  


It would have been handy, this power, thirteen years ago!

Thirteen years ago when he had a once-in-a-lifetime occasion to blow Voldemort to pieces. 

  
  


As Severus slowly walked back through the forest to Montmuran he was thinking about this fateful day: Would power have been enough to dispose of concentrated evil? 

Hell, he did not know, but he would apply himself to figure it out!

When they had apparated with Voldemort at James and Lily Potter's home, he had been hoping that Dumbledore somehow had managed to get the British Ministry of Magic into sending Aurors nearby. He had informed Albus as soon as Voldemort had made clear his plan. Now they were there, in their dark robes and hooded, wands ready and off for the kill and obviously none of the good guys had made his way over to the Potters to protect them. Severus had been very young then, he had hardly celebrated his twentysecond birthday. 

He'd been so confident then: After Hogwarts, when his buddies Potter, Lupin, Black and Lily Evans had gone off to train as aurors, he'd joined the French Army for the two years of service he owned the Republic. He'd chosen the toughest assignment that had been open to him. It had been the only time he'd ever asked his father, the General for ‚piston', for the buddy-buddy game. His father had smilingly agreed and Severus had ended up in the ‚Commando Marine', combat swimmers of the Navy. Compared to the ‚Commando Marine', parachutists and Army Special Forces where just puppies: Usually the ‚Commando' allowed only professional soldiers to join, not conscripts who'd leave after two years as lieutenants on the reserve list. First they'd broken him to pieces -muggle style, but terribly efficient- then they'd taught him, to kill, to infiltrate, to spy and .........to survive - muggle style, but still terribly efficient. He'd left them hard as a rock to go straight into the war with Voldemort.......but he was still full with that damned illusion, that in the end the good guys would strugge down the evil ones. 

  
  


When Severus had realized that no help from the British Ministry was sent to the Potter's home, he foolishly decided for damned hero playing - somehow a ‚baroude d'honneur'. Wasn't it that, what they'd beaten into his skull in the ‚Commando Marine': ‚Never give up Vanquish or Perish! The mission counts, not the soldier, he's replacable!' 

He had been so sure then, so sure that the Dark Lord would not expect an outflanking movement from one of his own lot. They had been five Death Eaters with Voldemort. Himself and Malfoy were the only ones with brains. The three others where just brutal, silly butchers; Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson. Snape had not even taken the time to think his plan thoroughly through: He'd decided on surprising Voldemort with something, wizards weren't terribly strong at: Wandless magic. He'd put all his fury, fear, guts and hatred of the Dark Lord into it and he had send him the Death Spell ‚Aveda Kadavra', from underneath his hood.Just another anonymous black mask. 

He'd been twentytwo then: All courage, no brains and hard as a rock ! 

  
  


Severus had never expected what would happen: The Death Spell struck the Dark Lord right in the chest, but instead of going down and breath out his last filthy breath, Voldemort had straightened himself and fired the spell back against the anonymous crowd of hooded followers, none of which had a wand raised against him. Voldemort had never minded extinguishing his own lot and that moment he was attacked and simply counterattacked the nextbest target - Five anonymous Death Eaters! It had the effect of the most horrible Cruciatus Curse imaginable, it had been like ‚Crucio' threefold, fourfold, ahundredfold. 

Then the Dark Lord went off to finish the Potters alone, leaving five men behind........ winding under excruciating pain and screaming with terror. It was only Harry Potters astonishing defeat of Voldemort that saved Severus skin that very night. Would Voldemort have come back, he would not have asked any questions but seen to it that each of them died a slow and most painful dead.......as an example to each and every other follower who harboured silly ideas!

  
  


Somehow between pain and darkness a tiny rest of reason left with Snape had reacted after a while. This hint of reason and the fact that he did not need a wand to do magic had allowed him finally to get rid of Voldemorts curse. Before blacking out, he'd also lifted the backfired ‚Aveda Kedavra' from Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson.He did not rember what happened then, but aurors must have taken them in and he still shivered when he thought of the dungeons of the Ministry of Magic,the endless interrogations, the beatings, the Veritas spells followed by ‚Crucios' and ‚Imperios' to make them talk and finally the cell at Azkaban and the dementors. 

Dumbledore had insisted on having him have the full Death Eater program! Every other treatment of his would have blown his cover to pieces and also the Dark Lord was gone, hundreds and hundreds of his followers were still runing free. Anyhow, only five men knew who he really was............and three of them sat in the French Ministry of Magic, not worrying about him, but believing he was wagging his wand for the ‚Cause'. They did not expect Severus to give sign of life. 

  
  


Weeks later, after a trial - it was a fake trial to keep up appearances - he was finally released. 

  
  


It had taken his body more then a year to heal although he'd never ever since gone for a swim or any other occasion that requested him taking his shirt off! To many scars! His soul still carried unhealed wounds of that war. 

  
  


The night Lily and James Potter died, Severus Snape had sworn the holy oath of never ever again overestimating his own craft and powers. He had made a mistake once and had paid dearly: he would not repeat this mistake, not now, not knowing that they were potentially facing a demon!

  
  


Harry lay lazing at the pool. The book in his hand was only means to cover the glances he trew from time to time at Morgan, who was swimming. He was a fiftheen years old boy just starting to discover that there was a difference between them and ...........and that difference was really nice. 

Morgan was so different from the girls he had come to know at Hogwarts: Striktly speaking, she was not pretty! How could a person who ressembled Snape ever be pretty? 

No, she was interesting; long black hair, a lean body that discreetly showed a hint of a woman, pitch black eyes - but they were so soft, so deep and so absorbing. And she was funny, good-natured and kind. Nevertheless the girl was clever and had interesting conversation and last but not least.............she loved Quidditch. She was playing in chaser's position on the Beaubaxton School Team. Harry was giving her another secret glance, as she streched out her slender arms for a crawl. She was so graceful, so unlike Hermione.......who always bent under her loads of books and gave him looks as if she were a younger version of Minerva McGonagall. 

  
  


Harry wondered, if Snape would skin him alive if ever he should give it a try to ask Morgan if she would not like to be his girlfriend. To Hell with Snape! He'd see to it, that after his fifth year at Hogwarts they'd allow him to go on an exchange programm to Beaubaxton. At least he could be sure that the gitty old bat would be too far away to hex him a terrible acne on his face or boild him in a cauldron. Snape! Where the hell was he anyhow. Severus had not appeared for diner for the last three days. He had not seen an inch of his Potion master's black ponytail anywhere in or around the fortress. 

  
  


While still devouring Morgan with his fiftheen-years old eyes he had to admit that somehow he missed the bat. Not that they had been in any particularly close contact, since they had arrived from Hogwarts, but still..........During the family diners Severus had always been really nice with him and it had been natural. The other rare occasions when they'd come across each other it had been the same: Snape interested in how he enjoyed himself, if he had fun, if he made friends with the other kids etc. Harry had even started to ask himself, if the gitty old bat of Hogwarts was not an act, some kind of teacher-pupil roleplay to rein in a bunch of underaged wizards without any disciplin and basically inclined to recless troublemaking and pranks. 

Perhaps the teachers were all playing roles: Dumbledore the nice, all-knowing grandfather type in whom you'd put your trust, McGonagall the stern but caring motherfigure and well................they'd needed a bastard, who'd frighten a shit out of the kids too, for their roleplay and somehow that job had come upon Snape.......perhaps because he was the youngest of the team, perhaps because he thaught the subject, where pupils where potentially exposed to the biggest bodily harm if ever their pranks and jokes went wrong! 

  
  


Harry sighted. What would Ron, Hermione and the Weasley twins say, if they'd ever find out that he'd grown a weak spot for the bat:"Sent him straight to Saint Mungo's for the Mentally Insane Wizard! Burn him on a stake! The sorting hat was wrong.....he's a Slytherin undercover agent, out to infiltrate Gryffindor!" Harry shook his head, stood up from the comfortable ‚Transat' and went over to the pool. He sat down, his feet dangling in the fresh, lightblue waters. Morgan gave him a smile that almost made him fall into the floods. 

  
  


Then the girl swam over to him :'Wanna join me for a crawl sprint, ‚Arry?' 

  
  


‚Sure!' He beamed. Then he slid into the pool and made his way over to her.

  
  


„Where's your uncle, bye the way?", Harry asked Morgan casually.

  
  


„Which one, I have quite a lot of ‚em?", she teased him. Then she turned serious,"I suppose, Sev is out in the forests or he's gone on a ‚randonnée' with Mordred. He sometimes disapears like that for days. You know, he's pretty much an outdoor person. Same as my papa was: You know, sleeping under the stars, campfire, catching their own fish..........!" There was a hint of sadness in her voice when she said these last words. „When papa was still alive, he and Sev always disappeared together.............."

  
  


„She is so sweet, when she is sad!", Harry tought. He slipped his arm gently around Morgans shoulders. 


	8. Predouriel an Drouized

Hope you enjoyed the last chapters! 

  
  


Now, there are some author's notes at the end of the page to give explanations about the Kredeen Geltiek, the old religion and the Druids. These explanations apply for Brittany - Bretagne -, which is the craddle of Druidism. I have absolutely no clue, when it comes to the practices on the British Isles! 

  
  


I also translate all ‚Breton' words used in the text in footnotes. As a matter of fact, this variety of a Celtic language is the basis on which were built the different forms of Gaelic to be found on the British Isles.

  
  


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Chapter 8 ‚Predouriel an Drouized'(1)

  
  


The very day, Harry had had his conversation about Severus' whereabouts with Morgan, his Potions Master reappeared at the family table for diner. He looked like a guy with a terrible hangover, but apart that he was cheerful and exceptionally chatty. As all his bunch seemed to be exactly aware of why he had dissapeared for a couple of days and why he came back with a hangover, this issue was not tackled during conversation. Harry shrugged his shoulders and accepted another serving of ‚Coquilles Saint Jacques' and vegetables. He'd grown more then fond of seafood, since he'd arrived at Montmuran. He sat next to Morgan, whom he had comforted so sucessfully in the pool. After he had slung his arm around her shoulder, she had rested her head against his chest for a while. Then she'd slipped a shy kiss on his cheek. Harry had blushed like boiled lobster, but then his fifteen years old senses had taken over and he had pulled her even closer and gently kissed her mouth.Well, now during this diner he wondered, if they really had been unobserved, because Morgans mother stuck heads together with her brother in law. Both of them laughed, when she pointed a very discret finger on her daughter and Harry.

Potter dug into his plate. To Hell with the old bat and Morgan's mum! He decided to let them have their fun. Under the table he felt the girls knee touching his. She gave him a cute little smile between to forks of ‚Coquilles Saint Jacques!'

  
  


After diner, Harry had sneaked away with Morgan, holding her hand in his, Severus had taken off with his father to the old man's office. Seeing Potter and his niece had made him smile. 

„They discover the sweet pleasures of innocent love. Isn't it nice?" Aurelian wispered into his son's ear, so that the boy and the girl would not hear his remark."Harry is a good kid, although his childhood must have been dreadful!"

Snape nodded:"I never understood Albus decision to have him raised by these Dursley's. I have never ever seen a more stupid brood........................how can you abuse a child psychologically and physically the way those people did, a child of their own blood!" His own childhood had been the very best time of his life. It was perhaps easier when one grew up in a large family. They'd been twelve children, so when there was trouble with Geneviève and Aurelian because of pranks and mischief, he'd always had a complacent brother or sister who'd side with him. His parents had always been there to encourage or to comfort him, when Avalon became to hard for a child, when the ‚Old One' and the Priests had pushed him too hard. Aurelian and Genevieve hd never allowed the ‚Old One' to take him away, because he was a child of the Fires of Beltaine and because the constellation of the stars, the moment of his birth had been exactly the same as Merlin's. His father had had his fights with the ‚Old One' on this subject, but in the end Merlin had given in: Obviously even in their world a change of tide had occured and modernity had entered the stone ring. Severus brushed away the thoughts about his childhood. „I must return to the Dark Lord!", he stated matter-of-factly. His voice was composed and showed no emotion. His eyes were stern; He did not blink when he fixed Aurelian.

  
  


The old man gave a sigh, then he put his hand on the place were Severus' heart lay:"You are frightened, son! There is no need to put up your brave face. You cannot deceive your own father."

  
  


Severus still did not blink.

  
  


„That is good, son! It's a soldier's secret for survival: Courage without fear is called foolishness!"

„I have learned this lesson thirteen years ago, Papa!" Snape replied sadly. Then he turned away from Aurelian and left his office for his own rooms in the Northern Tower of the Fortress. He had a couple of owls to send. 

  
  


The ‚Demon-Hypothesis' merited to call the full Breudeuriezh Drouized Barzed hag Ovision Breizha(2) for a great Gorsedd(3) to discuss things over.

It would be the best to invite Albus Dumbledore, although some of the members of the ‚Gorsedd'would grumble. They considered the issue of the Dark Lord mostly a problem of the British Isles and had already raised angry voices, when Severus had accepted to go and help Dumbledore and their English, Welsh, Scottish and Irish brothers during the first reign of terror of Voldemort. 

Would it not have been for Merlin - Myrridhin - himself they would never ever have allowed him to put his life at stake: He was Myrridhin's Heir, born under the same constellation as the ‚Old One' himself, at the same hour and under the Fires of Beltaine. It was too rare an event to have a Heir of the ‚Old One'; since the beginning of their times their had only been three, who had been able to pretend to this title and who had made it through the grand rite: dying the initiatic death in the stone ring of the eternal menhirs of Carnac, to be reborn at Brocéliande, cleansed by earth, air, water, fire and sun and finally revealed at Avalon, taking the oath of the Kredenn Geltiek, the oath of secrecy for the use and control of powers, the Blood Pact(4). 

  
  


Severus finished his last letter and sent away his last owl. Finally he'd be allowed to get some rest: He had not even realized that he'd spent 3 days with the ‚Old One'. He poured himself a glass of Whisky, took a couple of his favorite ‚ Asterix'(5) muggle comics from a bookshelf, loaded the latest album of Patrick Bruel(6) into the CD Player and finally flung his lean frame onto his bed. Marie the cat instantly started to purr with content and cuddled against his body. 

1. 

1 Could be translated ‚From a Druid's Philosophical Point of View' 

2. 

2 Fraternity of the Druids, Bards and Ovates of Brittany 

3. 3 Breton word for „Assembly" 

4. 

4 The tradition of the Druids has always been an oral tradition. When Rome conquered Gaul, many of the druids perished by Roman hands, because they were considered a powerful challenge to the Rule of the Empire, as the druids where the habitual counsellors of kings and princes in the Celtic world. The druids -and this is very important for my story - also glorified the pursuit of war, horsemanship and feasting. They never hesitated to pick up a weapon with their own hands and ride to battle to support their people and the king or prince they adviced. 

5. 

5 Asterix, designed by Uderzo and Goscinny is a highly popular comic in Europe. It relates in a very funny, but nevertheless intelligent manner the struggle of the Gauls against Julius Cesar and the Romans. 

6. 6 Patrick Bruel is a reputed French chanson singer who writes his own, very sensitive texts. He is extremly popular throughout generations, from 15 years old youngsters up to 80 years old grannies. 


	9. The Enchanted Forest

Thank you very much for all your nice reviews! I hope you'll continue to read my ‚little' story.

  
  


One of my reviewers hoped that Harry would become part of the ‚Old Religion', but I must disapoint him: Perhaps by now you understand, why Harry cannot.....................Harry' ancestry is much too diffrent from Severus', Harry is a wizzard, while Snape....................well find out for yourself!

  
  
  
  


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Chapter 9 The Enchanted Forest

  
  


Another week of Harry's holidays at Montmuran had passed. He was heavenly satisfied. Morigan was so lovly, so sweet. He enjoyed each and every moment they spent together: The weather was perfect and most of their time was outdoors. There had been more lazing at the pool, more tennis and broomriding and also more of the horses. 

  
  


Morigan enjoyed riding a lot and this had been reason enough for Harry to attend keenly -together with his ‚lady love' the lessons Delphine, Snape's youngest sister gave to the kids. And then they had their strolls on horseback into the forset: It was a light, clear, enchanted forest. Or was it simply Harry's heart that was enchanted? 

From their first shy kisses they had come to more confident embracing and even to exploring one another a little bit. Harry had his youthfull mind so much set on this first tender adventure that all toughts and troubles about the last schoolyear at Hogwarts seemed to drift away into a realm of clouds. When he closed his eyes at night, he would not live and re-live that dreadful moment in the graveyeard, when surrounded by an anonymous crowd of terrifying hooded creatures-Death Eaters- he had to watch powerlessly Voldemort striking at Cedric Diggory. The moment, when Pettigrew-Wormtail- had taken his blood by force to create that final devilish mix that would restore a body for the Dark Lord were far away, too. 

  
  


But still there were occasions, moments of solitude, when he could not but think of that last year at school and all events. 

He thought, but it was much more detached, much more in a logical then in an emotional way. He analyzed the situation instead of re-living it over and over again! Helplessly!

There was one thing that intrigued him above all others: Snape! Although he was here at Montmuran, living with Snape's family and coming across his Potion's Master on a regular basis, the man was to him now more then ever before a secret inside a mystery inside a cloud............so to say. 

What had he done that evening for and on behalf of Dumbledore? Why was the Headmaster so convinced of Severus' loyalty? Sure, Harry had had an occasion to look into Dumbledore's ‚Pensive'. The old wizzard had entrusted the ‚pensive' with a fairly long thought on Severus having been their spy already long before the Dark Lord was defeated the first time. What had Severus done that very night for and on behalf of Dumbledore? And why.....why? Had Snape been in contact with the Death Eaters that very evening or had he been off to see somebody else? During the end-of-term diner, when the Headmaster had spoken to them about the ressurection of Voldemort, he had underligned that their unity would make their strenghth .............It was so difficult, so difficult to understand, to figure out what was going on, to understand simply what happened in his world. Harry would have loved to ask a few questions, to get a few replies, but should he make this step and dare ask the man, who for four long years as his teacher at Hogwarts had been about the most odious bastard, the boy had ever come across and who now, away from the school, away from Great Britain seemed to be exactly the contrary of a dark, gloomy monster? 

Why would one, who garded himself so suspiciously from revealing even a hint about himself allow the person he seemed to despise most to see him under another light? Or was it Dumbledore who for one reason or another had ordered Severus to lift the veil, because in the upcoming struggle with Voldemort it would not do if he -Harry, „The Boy-who- lived" - mistrusted the Headmaster's secret weapon of war? 

  
  


Harry woke up from his reveries when his horse started to trot. 

  
  


Morigan turned to him, smilingly:'Now I show you the most beautiful place all around Montmuran, the ‚Lac aux Cerfs', the ‚Stags' Pond'. As we are on horseback, they cannot smell us, so they will continue to graze and drink, while we have our opportunity to observe them.They may even have their young ones with them....."

  
  


Stag? Stag!

His father had been able to transform into a stag, when he had learned to become an animagus. Harry had been able to conjure the stag as a Patronus against the evil powers of the dementors, when they'd saved his godfather's life last year. He'd love to see the ‚Lac aux Cerfs'! It would be a little bit like seeing his father. Perhaps the peaceful grazing animals in that enchanted forest would be able to brush aside his last remaining thoughts about Voldemort, Dumbledore, Snape and all the rest. Perhaps after such a joyful outing and such a wonderful day spent in the company of such a wonderful girl, like Morigan he'd finally find the courage and get his act together and knock - after diner - at Snape's door and try and speak with him!

  
  
  
  


Severus had apparated not far away from ‚Les Invalides' in a backroom of ‚La Table d'Emeraude', Paris famous library for ‚strange' literature, situated in the heart of ‚Quartier Latin', on the left bank of the Seine river and close to Notre-Dame cathedral.

‚La Table d'Emeraude' sold mostly old and very expensive muggle books about Rosecrucianism, Free Masonry, Alchimy, Witchcraft and Esoterism. Their clients were freaks and scholars alike, but all had solid bank accounts, because the works in that bookstore were so rare, that collectioners would not only kill for them, but also go to financial ruin!

  
  


Severus always smiled, when he discovered ‚real stuff' hidden between that beautiful, but totally fake muggle stuff from the XVII. and XVIII.century, although ‚La Table d'Emeraude' was famous in the magic and non-magic community for its clever mix of the two worlds'. It was almost a sport for adepts from both sides to hang around between the high old fashioned bookshelves, throwing inquisitive eyes at the bookstore's owner and trying to hunt down ‚the rare piece', the true piece of art............Severus' personal copy of ‚Moste Potente Potions' had been acquired in this place......for a misery, because all of the regular customers, the die-hard collectors of rare alchimy books had decided, that it was not only fake but also a joke. Even the specialized ‚Commissaire Priseur' from the auctioneer ‚Drouot's' had laid it down in a written statement/ ‚Moste Potente was........... nonsense. Snape himself had been enchanted to pass as a fool, for having acquired the fake. Besides the Hogwart's copy, no other surviving volume was known in the wizzarding collections. He let his fingers glid negligently through a range of shelves before giving the ‚Table's' owner a short nod, then he closed the door and made his way down to Saint Michel and the RER station. 

  
  


Nobody payed attention to him in his well-cut navy blue officer's uniform, which sported the insignia of ‚Infanterie de la Marine' together with silver parachutists wings and ‚Commando Marine' badge on his chest, although some of the keener observers may have wondered what had happened to the French Forces to allow an officer to wear a long ponytail under his black beret. But still they could attribute this to the fact, that their liberally-minded country was full of freaks: They even had a Secretary of Culture and Sports who was a homosexual and appeared at state occasions accompanied by his ..............boyfriend. Severus' lips curled into a light smile. Not that he hated his uniform, he'd always worn it with pride, being French through and through! But he could not understand, why his today's meeting, knowing exactly, who'd come to his office would be shocked to see him in robes or in a normal muggle business suit.

  
  


Well, it was indeed more discreet to enter the building of the ‚SGDN', the French Secretariat General for National Defence in uniform. The service of the Prime Minister, a clever mix between think tank and intelligence unit was a military stronghold after all. He was extremly curious to learn, why they had asked him to come to the capital in such a conspirative and secretive manner.......and in a terrible hurry. They'd sent a guy who smelled like intelligence from 50 km against the wind to Montmuran. He'd given him a wispered verbal message of a few words only!

  
  


Severus walked from the RER to ‚Les Invalides' through a bright sunshine that made the brass roofs of the building from the eary XIX. century shine like gold. Instead of taking the short-cut through the side entrance, he walked up the main alley, which also led into the beautiful War Museum and to the Tomb of Napoleon Bonaparte. It was simply for the pleasure of a beautiful sight....... He crossed the ‚Cour d'Honneur' and took to the right through a small iron-wrought gate. 

  
  


The NCO at the portic to the SGDN's building saluted and stood to attention. Snape was starteled for a quarter of a second, having lost this habit to say ‚Hello' the military way. Then he blushed, smiled and huriedly put his right hand in the reglementary angle to his beret. At the reception desk no questions were asked. A polite middle aged and well-dressed lady passed him a magnet strip card and told him:" The gentlemen are already expecting you on the third floor, Capitaine'!

  
  


The magnet strip card oppened door after door, while Severus made his way upstairs occassionally snapping his hand to his beret in reply to another uniform that greeted him. Finally two huge white wingdoors flung open, he was hushed through a secretariate with another smiling middle aged and well-dressed lady and he was in front of the man, who was reason for his coming. 

  
  


But to Snape's great surprise, General Claude Fillon, the four-stars who was in charge of the SGDN was not alone. In two comfortable dark green Chesterfields sat Alain Juppé, Prime Minister of the Republic and most entrusted political ally of Jaques Chirac, the new Gaullist President of the Republic and the French Minister of Magic, Patrick Delacour de Saint Germain.

  
  


„Be seated, Capitaine de la Bédoyere!", General Fillon showed Severus another Chesterfield. Delacour de Saint Germain gave Severus a smile, Alain Juppe streched out his hand. There was no need for introductions. The four men knew each other very well.

„Capitaine," General Fillon started the conversation, „we have asked you to Paris, because we received some troubeling intelligence from Great Britain, intelligence you may not be aware off, even though you'd just returned from Hogwarts!"

  
  


French Prime Minister Alain Juppe took a small leather briefcase from the coffee table and streched it out to Severus:" Read this carefully, please! We received it only fortyeight hours ago. The information was so extremly troubeling to our analysts that they prefered to pass it on to me directly, without digging further."

  
  


Snape opened the briefcase and took the folder, which was marked with the classification ‚Atomic'. This classification meant, that the document could be visioned only by very few people at the very highest level of political power. For about ten minutes he read in silence. 

His face became stone. „Fudge", he sighted,"the British Minister of Magic himself! How can he.........." Then he lifted his eyes and fixed Juppe:"May I know how you obtained this intelligence, Sir?"

  
  


Juppé nodded. He told him about a French DGSE(1) team they had out in Great Britain to surveil activities of Islamic fundamentalists mainly from Algeria and which were very prone to terrible bloddy operations not only on the soil of their home country, but also in France.These groups habitually kept close connections with the UK, which due to ist very liberal attitude, when it came to emigration etc; housed the largest radical Islamic community of all Western Europe, even larger then the community in Germany. Besides, several of the grand mosques in London where reputed to be indoctrination centers, where the fundamentalists recruted young, disapointed kids of emmigrated parents from the gory and hopless suburbs into their terrorist organisations.

„Well," Juppé concluded, „ the analysts put a lot of effort into identifying the interlocuters you see on that photo and help was asked from all our European colleagues, including your folks and when we transmitted the photo to my dear colleague Delacour de Saint Germain, he almost had an heart attack!"

  
  


The French Minister of Magic gave Severus a sad smile:"What shall we think, if Cornelius Fudge himself is having a long conversation with Nouredine ben Kad'r himself and a foggy, transparent thing sitting next to him?"

  
  


„You imagine, Capitaine de la Bédoyere", Juppé continued, „how surprised I was. It does not happen every day to the DGSE that they take photographs of a ‚dhschijn' and Islamic fundamentalists who turn out to be ‚derwisches' and use their Corans as spellbooks instead of prayerbooks! And since my colleague Delacour explained to me in detail, what kind of magic ‚derwisches' habitually practice, I dare say.............it is frightening."

  
  


„Thank you for all your support, Alain!", the French Minister of Magic replied to Juppé,"Indeed all we can suppose now, is that Fudge has turned to Voldemort and is helping him assembling allies. Since Dumbledore's embassy to the giants was a diplomatic success, Voldemort is streching out his hands to other outsider communities to fill his ranks and ‚dhschijns' and ‚derwisches' are about as dangerous as giants or dementors, when they run wild...............and they are much more fanatic, because they have always despised our European ways. Furthermore, this negociating with Nouredine ben Kad'r and an unknown ‚dhschijn' show clearly the Dark Lord's willingness to carry his quest for power beyond the British Isles. "

  
  


„Shall I contact my British counterpart in MI 5 to have this Nouredinel ben Kad'r arrested? ...... not for being a ‚derwisch' perhaps, but we can ask them to crush on him for his latest fundamentalist fumblings and those video tapes with the killings at Tizi Ouzhouf. Remmeber, five of the victims were French nationals........,"Doesn't matter to much, why we get him out of the circuit and since our boys from DST(2) recently blew that IRA weapons store in Paimpol for our British colleagues without making a lot of fuzz about it, they still owe us one!"

  
  


„No, let him run, please!"

  
  


Delacour, Juppé and Fillon all looked puzzled at Severus; He had spoken so softly, almost inaudibly but something in the younger man's voice told them to keep silent and to listen.

  
  


„Let him run and if you can, keep an eye on him and let us know. It is easier to fight an enemy you know........................." then he paused for a moment,"especially considering the fact, that Voldemort is more of a problem I ever dared to imagine. If we are not totally misled in our analysis, he's a demon!"

  
  


„What?", Delacour barked. 

  
  


Juppé and Fillon just looked into each others eyes. Although the ties between magic and non-magic were well-established in France and interaction between the highest government levels of both communities were frequent, neither the General nor the Prime Minister knew more about demons, than what everybody could get from a lecture of Tolkien's ‚Lord of the Rings'.

  
  


„You explain, Sev?", General Fillon asked very casually the man he'd commanded so many years ago, when himself still a Colonel. He'd never forget that fateful night in December 1980, when they'd found themselves with a small team of four on a distant shore and in a snowcovered, menacing environement and instead of an abandonned beachclose to the Soviet Submarine base at Mourmansk, where they would have landed in relative security, they'd found themselves surrounded by what looked half the Soviet military security forces of the Kamtchatka Peninsula. It was an almost hopeless situation and geeting caught in those days of tension between the Soviet block and the West was not acceptable. And then he'd heard the young lieutenant by his side murmer a strange Latin word ‚Petrify'' and Sev simply stood up and crossed the assembled petryfied Soviets, giving sign to his comrades to do the same. They'd picked up their ‚parcel', a French agent who'd been spying on the Murmansk Naval base to find out about the latest nuclear sub of the USSR, which was reputed to carry 21 nuclear warheads, while the same time being inaudible to all submarine detection measures and left in a hurry. When they'd regained their small sub, which would take them back to a French aircraft carrier -Foch-, which accidentaly was doing some visiting to Japan at that very moment, Fillon had taken the young man aside and asked him......... and to his greatest surprise, Severus gave him an answer. Fifteen years had gone bye since! 

1. French Secret Intelligence Service - Direction Générale de la Sécurité Exterieur / MI 6 equivalent 

2. French Counter Espionage Service - Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire / MI 5 equivalent 


	10. Flowers of the Forest

One of my reviewers enquired about the time line of this story: It is situated directly after ‚Goblet of Fire', which in my (no sorry JKR's perception. She owns most of the characters, only story and plot are mine........and I do not etc.etc. etc..........) perception is 1995. This is the reason for having Chirac president of france and Juppé his Prime Minister. If I am wrong, please tell me and I correct (the Prime Minister, they never last long in France!!!! :)

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Chapter 10 The Flowers of the Forest

Severus had sat through the family diner, his usual chatty, smiling and good humoured self, tackling the food their house elves had prepared lovingly with an even unhabitual appetite and going for a third serving of this delightful ,Saint Emilion' with just a slight aftertaste of red berries, raspberries. Playing to the people that knew him best that comedy of light-heartiness after what he had heard in the morning in the office of General Claude Fillon in Paris was even harder, then to present his students at Hogwarts with an appearance of lousy temper and bad mood for ten months a year. At least the students were playing enough pranks and jokes on him, to allow for building up some natural odious behaviour. He'd been thinking the whole afternoon, while wandering aimlessly through the streets of the capital, if or not he should tell his father. In the end he'd decided against transparency. This war was not Aurelian's war. The old man had had his share in the days of Grindelwald in the 1940ies. Their family always got their share in each and every odious war. Since the days of the Pendragone when the Dark had first tried to drown their world in a sea of fear, hatred and death. Time and again they'd even fought on both sides.........just like today! And what could Aurelian tell him else, then „Beware! The British Ministry of Magic has been probably infiltrated on the top level by a supporter of the Dark Lord. You cannot trust anybody any longer!"

He could still trust Albus Dumbledore. That was already something! Those of the so-called ,Order of the Phoenix' Albus had called to his side should be trustworthy, too. They were all of the old man's own choosing. And they still had Arthur Weasley in the Ministry. Arthur was as secure as a high security vault at Gringott's Wizarding Bank, although his many red-headed offsprings made habitually Severus' favourite targets at Hogwarts to be strangle or lovingly submitted to medieval torture methods. When it came to ,Moste Dangerouse Prankse' in Potions Classes, the Weasleys were simply beyond Snape's capacity to endure pain! A tiny smile flew through Severus' eyes, as he watched Harry: „Yes, the whole Weasley bunch together with Potter! Best strangle or drown the whole lot immediately, so to turn your full attention on the Dark Lord, instead of keeping underage wizards out of Poppy Pomfrey's Hospital Wing by means of basic psychological warfare.............!"

When the table was lifted, Severus disappeared from the ,Medieval Garden' where they used to dine in summer via one of these handy, old secret staircases Montmuran was full off. He needed to think a while in silence, analyse what he had learned in Paris, ponder on the Demon issue and simply get his act together. He slipped through a hidden door into one of the most beautiful rooms of Montmuran. Tourist Guides and history books habitually referred to it as the ,Chamber of the Unicorn', because of its beautiful tapestry, displaying a unicorn, sleeping on the knees of a lady and which was the twin of a tapestry exposed at the famous Cluny Abbey, the French Museum of Medieval Art in Saint Germain, off Boulevard Saint Michel in Paris.The Chamber of the Unicorn was not only rarely opened to the public but also full with glass displays that contained a rare collection of medieval miniatures on alchemy subjects painted on the finest of animal skins in colours unalterable by time and light. As a child, Severus had spent hours here loosing himself in these paintings and in times long gone bye. His father Aurelian attributed his choice of becoming a Potion's Master instead of a professional soldier to this particular childhood whim. In their family tradition it were habitually the female offsprings who excelled as Potions Mistresses or healers, while the ‚dumb' males were just good enough to carry a sword over a battlefield and die with honour............most of the time!

Snape lingered a while over the miniatures. Then he made his way over to a sort of niche in front of a high window. The window was crafted from tin and coloured glass into a replica of the Unicorn tapestry's central motive, the Lady and the Beats. In this niche stood an ancient Celtic Harp(1) 

on which generations of his family had played. 

Nobody knew exactly how old the instrument was, or how it had come to the Unicorn Chamber at Montmuran, but in ancient times, harpers were the counsellors of dukes, princes and kings and were given the chair of honour, titles and wealth for their services. These benefits were not inherited by their children but went to the best harper. 

In Brittany, the harper was consulted before going to war and often lead the troops to battle with harp and sword, singing of victory and slaying his share of the enemy. His harp was always heavily decorated and highly revered. All Gaelic peoples liked to decorate their harps with intricate carving and crystals. Chiefs and kings added fancy gold and silver ornamentation and jewels and often created priceless treasures. 

Severus had always supposed that their harp was Irish and XIV. Century, as in 1395 , according to old records, four Irish kings submitted to the English after an arduous fight. Harpers and bards in Ireland began then to be personally harassed by the English Crown early in the XV.Century and many were imprisoned as troublemakers or executed. Some sought and found refugee on the continent and in the Celtic lands from the Gulf of Biskaya over Brittany and up to Normandy.

He made himself comfortable on the granite bank inside the niche and gently took the instrument. Celtic Harps were traditionally held against the left shoulder, the left hand playing the upper strings and the right hand, the lower strings(2). The Montmuran harp must have seen a bit in its times, because it had a tremendous memory for tunes and would always accommodate the player's mood. Before he could place his fingers, some of the strings softly vibrated, starting a melody. The harp had certainly recognised the player, although he had not held the instrument since last Christmas.

„Well, as you like!", he replied softly, „Let it be The Flowers of the Forest". He continued on his own, where the harp had led him, allowing his mind to wander away, while the music filled the Unicorn Chamber.

  
  


„Now", Harry thought, „I want to have a couple of replies. And today is as good as any other day to ask the old bat a few questions!" Snape's good humour throughout the diner was also encouraging Harry to leave Morigan to the care of her mother for the rest of the evening. As he did not know, where Severus' quarters were, he simply slipped into the same staircase he'd seen his Potions master disappear a few moments earlier. Evidently there was no light. But as they were allowed to use their broomsticks and none of the other kids hesitated to using a wand, Harry supposed that France had no such stupid law about underage wizards using magic out of school, as had Great Britain. „Lumos", he said and a small orb of light appeared. The boy could see that some of the paintings on the walls threw him disapproving looks, but as none of them said a word, he continued his way upstairs. He'd always thought Snape would live in the dungeons! Now he had been climbing already to the third floor and there was still no door in sight. The old granite steps where nevertheless used by centuries of people taking that way, so logically............

Suddenly the boy stopped. He heard music but could not say, from where it came, higher up, lower down or the same floor level. He wondered if one of the paintings would tell him! He turned around and went some way down. He remembered a painting with a shepherdess that had not sent him a disapproving look. He found her, stopped in front of her and gave a slight bow:"May I ask you kindly..........", he started his enquiry.

The shepherdess took the lamb she'd been caressing and stepped to the frame:".......where does the music comes from? Mon petit, I am not sure you should be here. It is late already and children must sleep!" She replied in a manner that reminded Harry much of Minerva McGonegall and did not go with her cheerful, easy looks.

„Who are you, by the way?"

„Well, I am Harry!", he replied with a big grin, hoping to make her give a reply because he behaved so civilised and nice.

„Ah, I have heard about you! A friend of mine in the Guscelin Chamber had paid me a visit recently and told me that she had a most charming guest!" The shepherdess put the lamb down. It ran away back to the other animals and started immediately to look for a good draught of milk at its mothers. „Well, if you are Harry, then it should be good enough for me, because you are on holidays and no curfew is imposed!"

„Indeed," the boy replied gladly. He hoped, the shepherdess was not in too chatty a mood. He wanted just to go and find Snape and had a reasonable discussion with the old bat before going to bed.

The shepherdess sat on the frame, letting her feet dangle. Her pastel rose skirt floated and let appear an underskirt with lots of embroideries:"Nevertheless," she scratched her small topped up nose, „I am not convinced that the young count will be enchanted to see you! If you listen you can hear that the harp is not in a terribly cheerful mood tonight!"

„But that's a beautiful tune. I love it!", Harry replied honestly. He could not figure out what one of the other paintings - he supposed that was the count - or a harp would have to do with his intention of just seeing Snape.

The shepherdess gave a sigh and stood up from her frame. She gave a graceful brush to her skirt and went back into the middle of the painting. First she snatched the unwilling lamb from under its mother, then she took her former romantic position, stretched out in the grass with the animal on her knees:"Well, have it your way!", she said. The painting swung open and uncovered one of the more discreet entries into the Unicorn Chamber. The tapestry that hid the same entry from the other side was too surprised by the late visitor to oppose any resistance and simply rolled up.

He'd already seen a good deal of the Fortress with Aurelian and Genevieve as his tour guides, but they'd never taken him to this place. Harry gazed around with eyes wide open. „Gosh," he thought,"that one is really pretty!" His eyes locked instantly with the Lady and Unicorn tapestry. The tapestry was not magic and did not move, but it was nevertheless impressing. The motive was for something, but also the colours. It looked more alive then many magical artworks and Harry wondered who had made it. Aurelian and Genevieve had shown him other tapestries. They'd explained they came from the d'Aubusson manufactory and where mostly XVII. and XVIII.Century works. But this one looked a deal older. Then his eyes got stuck on the miniatures in the glass displays. The small paintings made him almost forget his intention to look for the old bat. He'd seen a little bit of Alchemy stuff in Binn's History of Magic classes, but they were the standard sketches used in schoolbooks. These were different. He saw an old alchemist who somewhat resembled Dumbledore stir his cauldron in a medieval lab with alembic and phials and lots of stone ware pots with Latin markings in a high shelf. Another represented the symbols of Water, Earth, Wind and Fire. The symbols constantly mixed up with each other happily to display for a short instant a tiny little creature, which looked almost like a mandragore without its leaves, then to disassemble again into their first state. While his eyes wandered from miniature to miniature the harp continued its eerie but nevertheless beautiful lament. Harry started to wonder if it was not simply an enchanted instrument, like the one Quirell had used in their first year at Hogwarts to keep Fluffy, who was guarding the trap to the hide of the Sorcerer's Stone asleep.

„Mister.....Potter!", something terribly familiar made Harry suddenly wake up from his reveries. The harp had stopped playing and the Unicorn Chamber laid silent. Harry spined around and banged into a lean frame. Only the black bat robes where missing. The boy lifted his head slowly. He expected nothing less then being thrown into the next cauldron to be boiled like a lobster.

When Harry made eye contact with the bat he realised to his bewilderment, that the dark black pits that habitually stared him down at Hogwarts where twinkling with a smile. The tall presence that had been intimidating and sinister at school was still formidable, but more reassuring and intriguing then frightening. 

„Prof......Severus?"

„Indeed.........and you should be in bed, young man!", came an amused reply instead of a menacing gnarl.

Harry quickly recovered his wits. As he had by now not been thrown into a cauldron, he seemed to have a pretty good chance of survival this night:"I liked that music!" The boy made an attempt of conversation."Did you play?"

Snape nodded.

„What?", Harry became courageous. The bat seemed to be in a receptive mood.

„Bi mis'nam athair a's nasm mhathairNam charaigean sheasmhach bi mi dhuit", Severus replied without thinking too much.

Harry ducked suddenly away and looked at him with frightened eyes. Was the bat about to curse him? It sounded like Parsletongue to him, but he could not understand.

Snape started to chuckle:"Shit!", he said to Harry. His dark black pits sparkled even stronger then before „I totally forgot..........and no, that's not a strange curse. The melody is called ‚The Flowers of the Forest' or sometimes ‚The Lament of Flodden'. That was only the Gaelic words I used."

Harry also started to chuckle, declaring himself silently a damned fool to be so frightened of Severus. He'd not strangled him during the last three weeks, so why would he suddenly start tonight. And anyhow..........it was Summer Term holiday for both of them.

„Come over to the window, kid!" 

„Can I talk to you?"

Snape nodded and showed him to the stone bank where he'd sat by himself a few minutes before." Want some hot chocolate or juice?"

Harry nodded with relief. One of the many layers of ice between the two of them seemed to have broken. „Chocolate would be fine!"

Severus murmured a few words. A small gueridon crossed the Unicorn Chamber obediently and took position next to the bank but at good distant from the harp. Another few murmured words brought a big cup of hot chocolate and a mug of coffee with milk.

„Wow," Harry shook his head,"You don't need a wand!"

Severus smiled at the boy:"Basic kitchen spells!", he replied dissmisively.

  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  


1. 1Also known as lever harp, to distinguish it from what you habitually see with orchestras, the baroque or pedal harp

2. 2 Today, harps are held against the right shoulder and the hands' playing positions are reversed. 


	11. Memories of Pain

Chapter 11 Memories of Pain

  
  


Snape leaned the old harp back against his left shoulder. His fingers moved gently over the strings and the Unicorn Chamber was again filled with music. But this time the tune was his and not the harp's chosing. His black eyes fixed Harry:" Well, young man! You wanted to talk to me! Speak!"

  
  


Harry took a long sip from his hot chocolate. Then he placed the mug back on the table and crossed his arms over his chest:"Will you tell me what is going on? I want to know, why Voldemort managed to come back by simply taking some bones of his father, the hand of that lousy Wormtail and my blood!"

  
  


Severus smiled sadly:"That was a very basic black magic trick he did. Most backwoods witches of the middle ages would have found it far beyond their professional ethics to do such a thing.......It is a kind of Satanist Ritual, Voldemort performed on that cemetry....as far as I can judge, because all I know about this day, is what you have told us in the Hospital Wing, after you'd recovered your senses!"

  
  


When Severus pronounced the word ,satanist' , the harp gave a sharp whin. Harry looked startled, first at the player then at the instrument.

  
  


„Indeed Harry, their kind is not terribly fond of magic so black!", the Potions Master stated."Harps are instruments of light!"

  
  


The boy let the explanations and also the harps reaction sink in. Another long sip of chocolate helped him.

  
  


„So this was not a potion, but a strange ritual? Why does Voldemort relies on stuff, even ...how did you call them, „middle ages backwoods witches" would not do?"

  
  


„I have asked myself the same question over and over again and….I came to a conclusion that at first sight may seem funny to you.....", Severus replied. The ,Old One'- Merlin- had asked him to explain this issue in detail to young Potter and the boy's need to know came handy to break terrible news a bit more gently. „He's a squib!"

  
  


„What!", Harry almost jumped from his seat. The Dark Lord, the most powerful black wizard of their times......a squib. That gitty old bat must have gone completely nuts.

  
  


„Shhh, calm young man! Not a squib in the sense that he could not do spells or curse and hex, but in the sense that there are thousand other ways to get your body back....., cleaner ways, I dare say...........it just needs some in-depth knowledge in the fields of alchemy or potions making or so-called high white magic.........there are very efficient prayers in this field, although few are instructed to a level of being able to use them! Harry it has been done before.......it is not very common, as it is against nature, but well......if you pretend to be the greatest black ,wizard' of your times, you should know. If not, you'r.......well …..a powerful and mean squib, but nevertheless a squib!" Severus had tried to make a difficult subject digestible for a fifteen-years old boy with the corresponding knowledge of magic and hoped that Harry would take his simplification. 

  
  


The boy nodded condescendingly. What Severus tried to explain, was that Voldemort could not rise to the very heights of his own expectations, when it came to magic skills and advanced knowledge, either by lack of understanding or by lack of learning. Although the young Potions Master did not doubt the fact that Voldemort was powerful.

  
  


„In fact,"Snape continued, while his fingers moved gently over the harp's strings" all is depending on what really happened, the night your parents...died!" This was a dangerous terrain to walk on, a true minefield. It would need a great amount of tact and diplomacy of his to go through this touchy subject. Pachebel's Canon soothingly floated over the conversation.

  
  


But obviously Harry needed less comfort to speak about that fateful night then Severus himself. The boy simply met Snape's black eyes with his green ones in a straight look:"You may speak about that, Severus! I wanted to ask you a couple of questions related to this anyhow."

  
  


Snape nodded, although he was not covinced that he would be terribly willing to give Harry a detailed account of the night from his own point of view: „Well, you were the only person present, who survived .....but you were just two years old and I am not sure that you have any memories left....and if, could you speak about it?", the Potions Master gave the conversation a twist in a direction he wanted to explore. It was worth the try. Potentially a manifesto of courage from Harry and a suppressed early-childhood memory would allow him to finally endorse the ,Demon Theory'. 

  
  


For a while Harry sat silent, sipping his hot chocolate and listening to the beautiful harp music. It was very comforting! He'd never thought that tunes could have this effect on him! A tiny, little devil inside his head nagged that Severus continued to play on purpose, knowing exactly how enthralling that old instrument was - charmed or not - and how easily physical and mental comfort made a person lower its guards……….especially when sitting at hardly 1 meter distance from another person, he habitually dreaded and was suspicious off. Already at the start-of-term banket in his first year, Harry had gotten the idea that the Potions master disliked him. By the end of his very first lesson in Snape's class, he knew he'd been wrong. The man did not dislike him - he hated him! After Quirell's destruction and Voldemort's temporary dismiss, Dumbledore had told him that Snape had tried the whole year to do all that was in his power only to get even with Harry's dead father who once had saved Severus' life, an act the obviously terribly proud man could never forgive. Was his actual behaviour, his ‚kindness', his willingness to answer only another attempt to get even with James Potter, so that Snape simply could go back to his ways of hating Harry's father in peace?The boy's mind wandered away from the little devil inside. What use now to mistrust Severus? He had not pressed Harry on this conversation! It was Harry who had come to speak with Snape. The boy gave a small sigh, then concentrated on carefully recollecting each and every piece of memory of the night his parents died.

  
  


Although Severus did not refrain from playing a rather complicat baroque composition of Corelli, his mind was fully concentrated on Harry's recollections of the night, when Voldemort killed his parents. The musical complication instead of distracting him, helped him to focus on the other issue. It had always been a habit of his to take refugee with the harp, when he needed to go through huge intellectual efforts. Now the effort was to filter the sole and unique clue for the Voldemort mistery from a diffuse recollection of memories thirteen years old and buried in a childs head for much too long. Harry related with a voice devoid of emotions. To protect himself the boy spoke, as if he was a bookkeeper who reported end-of-the-year business results for an enterprise: Everything was phrased in short sentences. He employed a very basic vocabulary. It was in a sense frightening! But when Harry had finished his eerie trip to the past, he did not collapse or break in tears, he straightened up on his seat.

  
  


„Now, what can you make of this, Severus?", he challenged the elder man's intellectual capacities,"I told you everything I remember, everything.....each and every detail!"

  
  


The Unicorn Chamber went silent. Snape stood up and paced the room for long minutes. Then, his back turned to Harry he started to speak. The green flash of light, fired on Harry and then immediately fired back against Voldemort! Harry's memory of a feeling inside himself, as if he'd burst. It made sense. Dumbledore had been wrong all those years. He wondered, if with some training that kid could not be brought to do magic without a wand!

  
  


„You were terrified that night! You were filled with the very strongest emotions a human being can have to a point that you'd almost burst! Voldemort threw the Death Spell ‚Aveda Kedavra' to destroy you! The very moment he went for his kill, you went -without even being conscious of what you wer doing - for yours! He had all his wards down, while yours where building up at that very moment, like a terrible impregnable medieval fortress. His spell bounced off from your defense and fired back against Voldemort, though killing him and not you!. But instead of simply dying, his body went to pieces, leaving the concentrate evil of his soul floating free! He's become that very night the most terrible manifestation of evil.........he's turned into a demon! The problem is, that nobody can kill a demon. All that may be done is to find that particular evil manifestation's weakness and rope him.....so to say, contain him. And if thoroughly contained, he'll not get out of bounds any longer, although part of his ‚evil' will continue to persist! But this part is no longer a deadly menace, just a nuisance....................."

  
  


Harry had listened to Severus carefully, absorbing each and every word the young Potions Master said. Only at the end, when he'd come up with his weak spot, roping, containing etc. the boy could not follow any more. He stood up from the bank and went over to Snape. 

  
  


„Severus, can you explain so I may understand?"

  
  


The Potions Master laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and shrug his head. His eyes were sad:"As far as I got it, Harry -Voldemort has turned into ........well.......kind of super-boggart, collective nightmare.......revelling all our deepest, darkest desires and throwing them back on us thousandfold. It's somehow like.........", he thought for a while in silence. Only a muggle thing came on to his mind to further explanations; billions of particles of light bundled and then powered by energy and canalyzed to be released in the form of a laser beam, that would blow any target dressed in front of it to pieces.......

  
  


„So what can be done?"

  
  


„I have no clue, Harry! I do not know!" Snape pushed the boy gently towards the main entrance of the Unicorn Chamber. It was late and he had given all answers he knew. There was nothing else he could do that very night to explain more.......or better. He'd bring the kid to bed and then take a nap himself. That whole discussion had brought too many memories of pain. For Harry, but also for himself!


	12. The Three Worlds

Chapter 12 The Three Worlds

  
  


Hogwart's Headmasters and Headmistresses of the past dozzed peacefully in their frames. The huge windows of Dumbledore's office were wide open to let in the light breeze of a beautiful summer night. Although it was already past 10 o'clock, night had not fallen yet and other the chandelier on his working table, the diminishing daylight send reflections over the Headmaster's long white hair and beard. Fawkes, cuddled on his shoulder, shot from time to time a discontent look to his habitual golden stand close to the office's entrance. The red and gold phoenix had never fully trusted these dark winter creatures and always avoided their company, but that particular raven had been his nemesis for years. Not only had he dared to simply serve himself from Dumbledore's box of lemon drops without the Headmaster offering the sweet. Now he sat, proud like a king, on Fawke's very own stand and threw him mocking looks from these cunning black eyes of his.

  
  


„Severus' raven again bullying you, boy?", Dumbledore asked soothingly,"Yes, he's a nasty rascal, that Cicero, isn't he! But shouldn't we forgive him his impudent behaviour for tonight?" The bird had flown from Montmuran to Hogwarts non stop in an absolute record time. His arrogant behaviour came quite evidently from this fact. Already when Albus had taken the parchement from his proudly outstreched leg, he'd known that the raven would spoil Fawke's evening for good. 

  
  


The phoenix turned his head from the stand and the intruder and cuddled closer against his master's check. Dumbledore read Severus long letter over for a second time.

  
  


„You've always impressed me with your astonishing ability to analyze, Severus!", the Headmaster said to himself,"Although today I'd wish you were wrong!"

  
  


After their long discussion in the Chamber of the Unicorn and with Harry safely in bed, Severus -instead of putting his own tired bones and mind to rest - had taken a pile of parchement The result of that sleepless night - hardly 24 hours ago - lay now on the Headmaster's desk at Hogwarts. He had put it all into four pages and 12 lean chapters, but the conclusion was -nevertheless- terrifying.

  
  


Albus already knew from an earlier letter that Severus doubted Voldemort's first demiss through an Amatus Spell pronounced by young Potter's mother Lily. 

  
  


Now the young Potions Master had put two and two together and explained in detail, what really must have happened the night Harry's parents had died.....and he stood by his theory: The Dark Lord was a Demon, though they would have to fight him as a Demon!

  
  


Severus had already called an assembly of the Breudeuriezh Drouized Barzed hag Ovision Breizha(1) for a great Gorsedd(2) and he - Dumbledore - was kindly invited to join in their deliberations as a brother. 

The Headmaster shuddered; since he'd accepted to take Sev into Hogwarts as an exchange student for the 6th and 7th year, because his father Aurelian, the Duc of Brittany and an old friend of Albus' from the days of the war with Grindlewald insisted on at least providing his son with a minimum level of social interaction capabilities beyond his own close-knit family, he'd attended a couple of their ‚Gorseeds'!

  
  


They'd take hours and hours to listen to recitals in Breton by some dusty old bard, before exchanging five reasonable sentences with one another. Then they would go for another hours long recital by the next dusty old bard, before exchanging the next five reasonable sentences. The whole laborious listening to wise tales about the days of old in Breton language would be followed by feasting with wine and food aflow and socialising. Finally, when they were sure that they could neither drink nor eat any more and when each and every of them had discussed with all the others, one of them would get himself into trance, cross the closest stone ring and come back with Merlin. Then they'd start again with hours of Breton recitals until time came to start the next round of feasting and socialising. Habitually -after three days and three nights- they were all fagged from reciting, eating and drinking and each and evry had had the latest news about all others. Then they'd give Merlin a short outline of their five sentences in-between discussions and the ‚Old One' would give them his advice. Habitually Merlin's word was taken for granted and he'd bid them farewell and disappear..................Dumbledore shook his head: they really had the art of making easy things complicated. And they had obviously only three fears:"that the sky would fall down upon them, that the seas would overwhelm them and that the earth might open under them. They still sacred the Sky, the Water and the Land as the ‚Three Worlds' and viewed Fire as extremly sacred and existing in all three Worlds(3) Modern society possessed little reality to them, although each and every of the ‚Gorseed' was able to blend with muggles without attracting the slightest attention to himself. Nevertheless the results from such a chaotic assembly of Druids, Bards and Ovates habitually made sense! This already was worth attending, because if Voldemort was really what Severus believed him to be, it was probable that they'd come up with an idea of how to ridden the world of this nightmare.

  
  


Albus had never understood how those of the ‚Old Religion', the ‚Kredeen Geltiek' had managed over more then a thousand years to keep that high level of internal integrity, human bonding, cultural identity, standards and self-respect of the Celtic people of Brittany . 

  
  


On the British Isles all this was already falthering when the four founders of Hogwart's decided to create an institution that would teach Witchcraft and Wizardry to more then a numerically-small group, which would then form the sole knowledge-bearing caste of an entire people. The day Hogwart's walls stod finally proud against the skys, the Druid culture of the British Isles had signed ist own dead warrant! 

  
  


France's Druid culture -on the contrary- had survived strong and unblehmished right into the XX.century and their survival had not only had a very positive influence on the whole magic community of that country, it had also allowed this magic community to establish close ties with the non-magic world. No matter who was in power in France, they'd still go and speak with those of the ‚Old Religion'........and more often then not, they'd listen to what they said. Was this perhaps the reason why their French cousins never ever had had any troubles with Dark Wizzards and evils such as Voldemort?

  
  


Dumbledore continued to read Severus' letter. He took that muggle photograph the young man had send him and held it against the soft light of a chandle: Fudge, indeed! Fudge sitting together with a derwisch and a dschijn in bright daylight, in the backroom of a muggle restaurant in Southwark, right in the center of muggle London! A muggle Foto made by a team of muggle secret intelligence officers and then transmitted straight into the hands of the French Minister of Magic and from there even straighter down to the stone rings of Brittany...........Dumbledore took a quill and a piece of parchement. He'd go and sit through Severus' ‚Gorseed' and he'd even come some days earlier to Montmuran...... just for the sake of curiosity. Indeed.....why not a Demon!

  
  


The Headmaster finished his letter. When the sealing wax dropped on the parchement, Cicero the raven left Fawkes' stand and landed elegantly on Dumbledore's working desk. After stealing another lemon drops with an arrogant peak he streched out his leg casually.

1. 

1 Fraternity of the Druids, Bards and Ovates of Brittany 

2. 2 Breton word for „Assembly" 

3. The Celtic people associated their clergy-the druids- with the sky, warriors with water and producers/farmers with land. Fire was associated with kingship, which affected all ‚Three Worlds' Multiple associations were often created between aspects and incidents of mythology, the druid caste system, the ‚Three Worlds' plus Fire, sacred trees, the multiple deaths of kings, and so forth - not all of which fit perfectly. Since Druid culture was whispered and not written down until it was already dying, we have few records of their beliefs or ways. This is the reason, why I took certain liberties. They are nevertheless the liberties of a historian! 


	13. The Laws of Nature

Chapter 13 The Laws of Nature

Voldemort examined his body carefully. His red eyes scrutinized his hands.These hands were of an unhealthy yellowish colour. His skin ressembled more and more an old piece of parchement. "How can this happen?", the Dark Lord asked himself. The very moment following the ritual when he'd been reborn from the bones of his despised father, the flesh of his cowardly servant and the blood of this Potter boy, his hands, his whole body……they'd been pale, but nevertheless smooth and healthy. He crossed his bedroom and entered the attending bathroom. He glanced at his reflection in a full size gold framed baroque mirror: His appearance was one of falthering and decay!

How could this have happened? What had gone wrong in that graveyard? It was hardly six weeks since he'd been reborn and he already looked as if his body would be at the etch of death. 

"Wormtail!", Voldemort barked dangerously,"Wormtail, come here immediately!" His voice was high pitching and cold like a northern wind.

  
  


Peter Pettigrew had been down in the kitchen of the old manor they'd elected for temporary residence. The househad belonged to some relative of Lucius Malfoy who'd died without descendants. Lucius had inherited it, but never used it. The Manor was advantageously situated far from everything, be it wizard or muggle on a storm-beaten island of the Orkneys. Since nobody had been living here for decades, the house-elves of the former owner were long since gone and the tasks of cooking, cleaning and household chores fell upon Wormtail. The little ratlike man stod bent over an age old stove, magicing desperately something edible for his master. He'd never been any good at kitchen spells, but the sheer terror of Voldemort's not approving his work, made him try even harder. Suddenly the Dark Lord's angry cry made Pettigrew lose his concentration and the plate of boiled eggs, spiced potatos and sausages blew up in a flesh of fire. 

„Damn it!", whinced Wormtail, „He'll kill me if he does not get his breakfast on time!" Then he souhted loudly"I am coming, My Lord! I am already on my way!" He stuffed his wand into his sleeve and run from the kitchen upstairs to Voldemort's bedroom.

  
  


The Dark Lord stood in front of him like an angel of venegeance. His red eyes where burning with hatred. The black robes that covered his body made the unhealthy colour of his skin even more appearant. Thin hair covered a crankled skull full of strange light marron sprinkles:"Wormtail, you bastard!", Voldemort barked at his servant. The Dark Lord's wand flashed out from under the black cloak and pointed at Pettigrew. „Crucio"

  
  


The man instantly broke down, wincing and screaming:"No, no! I've done nothing against my Master's will! Oh pray, stop this pain!" Unable to control himself in any sense, Pettigrew tourned from screaming to gasping and shrieking. His breath became unsteady, his rat eyes turned up, showing only the white of the globes. The venes at Wormtails temples turned darker and darker and filled with blood almost to the point of exploding.

  
  


„Finite Incantatem!", Voldemort said softly. 

  
  


Pettigrew lay uncoscious on the floor, a heap of dark robes, hardly recognizable as a human being. He was nothing more then a pile of rags for the next 30 minutes. Voldemort gave his servant hardly a glance. He was still alive. He'd recover and then return to his chore of preparing a decent breakfeast.........but not before he'd answered the question:"What did you mess up at the cemetry? How could you dare to ruin such an important ritual?" 

  
  


„Wormtail!", the dark Lord spit between clenched teeth,"Why had it to be Wormtail?" He was sure that Malfoy would have done a better job then this. Lucius had always been the most instructed of his Death Eaters when it came to Satanist rituals...........or Snape! He would not even have needed ‚Bones of the Father, Flesh of the Servant and Blood of the Enemy'. Severus had his own secrets in that very peculiar field of putting a stopper to dead and decay. But he'd been the one Death Eater too cowardly to return! Severus would pay his cowardice dearly. 

  
  


The Dark Lord gave a silent promise, that the Potion's master would not even dare to refuse disobeying his next call. And then, he'd teach him that there were worse things then dying and worse things then Azkaban! Lucius had told him the whole story of Snape after the incident with that Potter boy, that had left him for twelve long years without a body and with hardly any power: Instead of getting his ass out of the mess and pretending to have acted under the ‚Imperius Curse' , Snape had simply opted for saying nothing at all. Rumours had found their way out of the Ministry of Magic that he even had managed to resist the aurors' ‚Veritas Spells'. They'd him already down at Askaban for a Dementor's Kiss, when suddenly the most terrible of all Ministry aurors Mad-Eyed Moody had made a point, that exactly this resistance proved that Severus had been under the strongest of ‚Imperius Curses'. They'd brought him back from Askaban for a trial and the jury was so convinced by his continuous refusal to open his mouth that they declared him innocent and let him go. After this Severus had disappeard from the surface of the earth for three years, before turning up at Hogwarts as Potions Master - a changed man, according to Lucius. When he'd been wild and deadly and unbending as a death Eater, he was now a bitter, evil shadow. More gloom then man, Lucius said! A manifestation of the dark......but when it came to Potions better then he'd ever been in the good old days. He was considered by now the very best of all Potions Masters alive. This together with Lucius appraisal of what the aurors and Askaban had made of him, made Voldemort shiver with excitement. He knew that he'd get him back soon. That smelled like a man, who was waiting to take his vengeance, but who still lacked the courage to find his way towards the power, that would allow him to get even! 

  
  


With Wormtail having messed up the ritual that had returned him his body, he'd need Severus knowledge and skills to reverse the effects of decay he felt so clearly and Severus would do everything in his power to suceed! Soon! 

  
  


The Dark Lord continued to pace the floor for another five minutes of sheer, hardly controlable rage. He'd enjoy to make that vermine Wormtail scream and whince again, but he was fully awar that he would not survive another ‚Cruciatus Curse'. Not that he cared, if Pettigrew lived or died,but...........he still needed his severvices. Finally Voldemort stopped in front of Wormtail's still crumpled body. He gave him a particularly mean kick in the chest that drew out another painful moan:"Now stand up and stop crying like a child! Down to the kitchen and get me breakfeast immediately."

  
  


Pettigrew's eyes were flooded with tears. He was unable to get back on his feet and could hardly breath. He draged himself out of the Dark Lords bedroom........on all fours, like a beaten up dog. 


	14. Never to be answered

Chapter 14

  
  


A soft, gentle sun had teased Harry out of his comfortable bed in the Guescelin Room as early as six o'clock in the morning. He wondered, if it made any sense to go downstairs to the garden and look for some breakfeast. He thought, he could do with a nice cup of „Café au Lait" and lots of raspberry jam on lots of fresh croissant and swung his legs out of bed. 

  
  


The first thing Harry did that morning, was to get himself a good shower; he simply lowed the ‚étuvé', which was in fact his own private bathroom. All stuff inside was magic or charmed and on a simple command of the guest in the Guescelin Chamber it would be hot bubble bath, sauna, just a shower or whatever. The ‚étuvé' was haunted by a kindly ghost, a gentleman from the times of Henri IV. who'd died accidentally in the bubble bath, when falling asleep over a book, he'd been reading while soaking his tired bones in very hot water. As this had been one of his favourite pasttimes -steaming hot baths- he'd decided to simply stay on after his premature demiss. He'd chat with Harry in a very old-fashioned French, but thanks to Geneviève's ‚Lingua Charm' it was no problem to understand his stories about all the exciting adventures he'd had during the War between the Protestants and the Catholics over the realm of France and when not telling stories of his loves, his duels and his hunts he'd question the boy mainly about his progress in horse riding and why the hell nobody had the idea to finally teach him how to use a rapier to defend his manly honour. 

  
  


When Harry told him, that at school he'd participated in a duelling club with wands and magic, the kindly ghost -his name was Chevalier de Lagardère - had simply dismissed this as „A wodden stick is no good for a true gentleman!" 

  
  


After his habitual morning chat with Lagardère, the boy got himself dressed in light kaki cotton trousers, a comfortable polo shirt and a cotton sweater against the early morning chills. It were no longer Dudley's oversized old clothes, he wore. They'd simply disappeared and been replaced without any comment the very day that followed his arrival with nice French things. 

  
  


He supposed that Snape's mother had had a hand in it, because all was high quality, expensive and of a very good taste. Harry made his way downstairs. Indeed the ‚Médieval Garden' was still empty and silent, but the house-elves had already dressed the breakfeast table and a used set of cup and plate showed, that there was another early riser haunting the waste grounds of Montmuran. He wondered, who this could be, because none of his Potions masters family ever emerged before 9 o'clock from their rooms. 

  
  


Severus himself - as to Hogwarts experience - was no morning person at all; indeed, Harry had never ever seen him at the breakfeast table for the entire three weeks. And since their discussion in the Unicorn Chamber a few days earlier, he seemed to avoid the sacrosanct diners of the family, too. Potter wondered, if this was related to him telling in detail about Voldemort's ressurection and that recollection of his parents death and the defeat of the Dark Lord. 

  
  


When Severus had brought him up to his chamber and bidden him a good night, Harry had seen something very strange in the gitty old bat's eyes. Something he'd never seen before in those dark, black pits: Pain! 

Harry himself had been exhausted from relating this early childhood experience in each and every detail, but he'd felt better afterwards: As if a burden had been taken off his shoulders. He'd felt better, because he'd finally got something off his soul, that had haunted him in his dreams for the last twelve years. 

With Severus he'd had another impression:"Pain and a deep wound reopened!"

  
  


Harry pushed these thoughts away, devoured his breakfeast and gave a short glance to his wristwatch. He had at least two hours before Morigan would be up. He'd go for a stroll over to the horses' stables and adjacent prairies. There were many foals. He enjoyed watching them play and run together. He'd just ist down and enjoy the beautiful animals with their kind dark eyes and soft noses. Perhaps he'd even give his favourite -Hector- a good brushing, so he could later on help Morigan get her horse ready. 

  
  


They would go for a randonnée to Mont Arés with Snape's youngest sister Délphine at around 10h30, with picknick in the forest and a swim in a lake, Morigan had described to him as simply beautiful. Harry had grown very fond of Délphine. She had a muggle profession as a veterinarian, but also cared for Magical Creatures. She had her own practice in Rennes and was married to a French muggle three days eventer, who'd already twice competed with their Olympics team and who was not at the Chateau, because the eventing season was at its peak, with the famous trials in Burghley, England. 

When Harry reached the stables and annex riding place, he suddenly realised who was the earliest riser at Montmuran. Nevertheless he went completely unnoticed! The old bat was completely absorbed. Although they'd portkeyed that huge brown beast over from Hogwarts to Montmuran, the boy had actually never seen him on horseback. Delphine always called her brother a ‚gifted amateur', but what Harry observed from the bank under one of the high birches that surrounded the riding place seemed not amateur-like to him. 

  
  


Delphine had explained that there were three disciplines in riding: Jumping, Eventing and Dressage. Dressage was the crown jewel, the most difficult, the discipline that really requested discipline and self-control. The boy shook his head. He should have doubted it; Severus would hardly enjoy to jump over fancy-coloured obstacles or break his neck in a wild cross-country race over monstrous logs. In fact, the horse danced under its lean long-legged rider. There was an economy of movement. It was imposible to figure out, what the bat actually did to make the huge, dark brown beast move like this. Harry saw only Mordred's muscles and enormous crest-shaped neck - the horse ressembled a body builder - move with grace over the light brown sable rectangular. He continued to observe and to wonder how this worked, without the rider moving, sitting just very straight, with extremly long stirrups in balance and complet control of his body as if glued into the saddle. Instead of the two rains, he himself habitually held, Severus held four rains and inside the horses mouth blinked a silver briddle with shanks about 12 cm long. The horse's neck was smoothly curbed, its ears dressed forward. It looked as concentrated as the rider. 

  
  


Was it really the same person that thaught them Potions at Hogwarts, always in a dark mood, always bad-tempered and frighteningly sarcastic? Someone who gave the impression, that he hated life and was upset with everything and everybody around, who'd chosen already in his early adult life to worship the Dark and Voldemort, who's only aim seemed to be terror, death and torture. 

  
  


Could someone who'd grown up in such a loving and affectionate family and who obviously was attracted to the gentler arts - harps, horses- be able to murder in cold blood? 

  
  


Well, Harry had seen a portrait of a younger Severus in the uniform of a French officer in Geneviève's study. Having lived as a muggle for eleven years and having watched television news with the Dursley's Harry knew, that muggle soldiers were trained to kill and to fight, but they learned it in order to defend their country against an enemy, an agressor. 

  
  


When a soldier had to kill, it was not considered a murder but an act of self-defence, while Voldemort's followers destroyed lifes only for their own sordid pleasure. Harry could not imagine that Aurelian, the old general would be able to still hug his son, when he knew, that Severus killed for the sake of killing only and the boy was sure that Snape's father knew...........because Severus did not hid the Dark Mark ! On the contrary, Voldemort's sign was visible to all of them. 

There was no black high-collared robe with long sleeves here at Montmuran that protected Snape like a fortress. Since he'd picked Harry up in the Griffindor's common room, Severus had always left the mark uncovered by layers of fabric. 

  
  


„Another early raiser?"

  
  


Harry had been so absorbed with his puzzle, that he did not realize at first the huge horse having stopped by the bank. Snape looked down at him from the saddle, the four rains hung loosely over Mordred's shiny neck.

  
  


„Sorry, I did not want to disturb you!", Harry replied in a very low voice. He felt a bit ashamed of having spyed at Severus.

  
  


Snape glid from the saddle and took his animal by the briddle:"Let's walk, kid. He has been working very hard and is sweating. He's to dry down or he'll catch a cold."

  
  


„You are not mad at me?"

  
  


„Why?"

  
  


„Because I came to the Unicorn Chamber that other evening to ask you questions?"

  
  


„Harry, if I would not have wanted to reply, I would have told you so clearly and definitively. You should know by now, that I am quite straight-forward.......You did not get all your replies, that evening, didn't you?"

  
  


Harry shook his head. Indeed there were still many questions unanswered. But he did not know, if he could ask them or if this would be considered to much an invasion of Snape's privacy. He walked for a while in silence with his Potions Master and the horse. They'd left the sand place and turned into the forest. 

  
  


„I cannot understand it!", Harry surprised himself to speak it out loud and clear, „It does not make sense!" His finger pointed at the Dark Mark.

  
  


Severus gave a small sigh:"Is it really so important for you to know the reason why?"

  
  


Harry, too gave a small sigh. Yes, it was important, because it depended on this answer, if he would ever be able to trust Snape or if he'd simply continue to doubt, which side he was really on. Why shouldn't someone so brilliant and at the same moment so cunning be able to deceive those around him and simply continue to serve Voldemort for the sake of power, while pretending that he was actually co-operating in his defeat?

  
  


It had been so obvious from the very first moment they had met at Hogwarts, that Severus, although still very young, was an extremly powerful wizard. That power could be felt.It was the same, when Harry was close to Dumbledore: He felt the Headmaster's magic powers, only feeling them was less upsetting, less menacing! When one was close to Snape at Hogwarts, there was always an aura of menace and hardly contained violence floating in the air. This aura was so strong that it kept everybody at distance, even the teachers and Severus own Slytherins -also they worshipped their Head of House - never came close physically. They always kept kind of safety distance with him. The one and only person he'd ever seen touch Severus, was Dumbledore himself! 

  
  


But since they were at Montmuran...................that was the curious thing that came only now to Harry's mind: He did not feel it any longer; He felt something similar to what he experienced when he was close to Dumbledore.........the menace and the violence were gone, while the magic and the strenghth were still present, perhaps even more then at Hogwarts. 

  
  


Harry had the feeling, that this was the question never to be answered!

  
  


The correct question was not: „Why do you have this Dark Mark?", but „Who are you?" 

  
  


Dumbledore, who was always inclined to give out strange hints and clues and puzzles had told Harry the day before he'd left for Montmuran never to judge a book by its cover. And if the gitty old bat was nothing but a cover?

  
  


Against his better judgement, Harry answered Severus question:" No, it is not important to know the reason why? Although I have not made up my mind yet if your dark sides are stronger then your light sides."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. Heros of a Long Forgotten War

Chapter 15 Heros of a Long Forgotten War

  
  


All members of the „Gorseed" had replied and would be availiable to attend the meeting. Cicero had also returned from Hogwarts with Albus letter. He'd be there, too! Severus wondered what had taken the Headmaster to cross the channel muggle style instead of simply taking the portkey, Cicero had carried with his invitation. In fact it was not possible to apparate to Montmuran and the environing Broceliande forest for others then family members. The medieval fortress which had resisted aggression and wars for hundreds and hundreds of years possessed protections and wards, much more powerful then those established around the Hogwarts school and grounds. As each and every generation of the Ducs of Brittany had added spells, charms and curses, nobody knew exactly how to lift all of them. There were no records of the magic defenses of the fortress and Severus was more then happy with this mess created by generations of Rogues de la Bedoyères de Villeons. It was an old habit of his to occasionally add mean things to that protection, too. Severus knocked at his father's office door.

  
  


„Come in, child!", Aurelian barked happily: The general was deeply in his beloved Holstein cows. The Paris Agriculture Fair would open the first week of September. He'd show them Holsteins that would put them to their knees......black and white beauties with soft rose noses and expresive eyes. Aurelian was going through pages of Exel sheets on his PC, the number-letter codes meant more to him then just registry numbers with the Ministry of Agriculture and their Sanitary Services: They had names, faces, a caracter and parentage! 

Over the next few days he was to decide which beasts they'd show in Paris to an international jury and which of the younger bulls would be selected for sale. He did not like selling his breed, but knew that one could not keep everything born to this grounds and that some had to go and new one's had to come for the sake of genetics.....also until today he'd always managed to keep his females or to sell them only to esteemed fellow-breeders who appreciated good lifestock and would not simply usher it to the butcher after seven or eight years with only five or six calves at their account. Aurelian pushed the print button to show his son the pre-selection list. Severus took it smilingly and dropped into a comfortable and well-worn armchair opposite his father.

  
  


„GD1704/29! You always show her, Papa! Give the poor lass a break. Why don't you take for once „La Megère" up to Paris. She's cuter then GD?" Cows had serial numbers for the Ministry live stocks listings only. Habitually the farmers and breeders themselves adressed them with names that reflected traits of character or of the animal's exterior.

  
  


„That freak with horns twisted like a Spanish bull! Well, why not. She's fun and she'll certainly bully the jury with her hot temper." Aurelian took a pencil and added AFK/102/12 to his Paris list.

  
  


„I am going down to Rennes, Papa! Albus decided to take the ferry to Brest and the train. I'll pick him up at 19h25 at the station."

  
  


Aurelian smiled. Albus had always been fond of trains! In the days when they'd fought Grindlewald, they'd blown up quite a few of them together. He was happy that his old friend would stay for more then just the „Gorseed". They'd have couple of drinks, only the two of them, somewhere downtown in Rennes, plunging together in the reminiscences of their wild, adventurous and eventful youth.............youth, long before responsibility and seriousness had taken over high spirits and a taste for thrills! 

  
  


The general opened a drawer of his working table, taking out car keys and trowing them over to his son who caught them in flight, making them disappear in the pocket of his light grey trousers. He was wearing a nice well cut muggle business suit, white shirt and a tasteful bordeaux ‚Hermes' silk tie. With his neat black pony tail, he'd gone through as each and every fashy muggle profession from architect to journalist without arising the slightest suspission in an assembly of non-magic folks.

  
  


„You get yourself a decent parking space for the Volvo!", Aurelian gnarled with a mocking smile,"I do not want any phone calls from the „Préfecture de la Police" about my Volvo break shrunk into space that would not be large enough to cope with a Twingo or Mini Cooper......"

  
  


„As you wish!" the young Potions Master sighted halfheartedly. If there was one thing he truely hated about the non-magic folks, it was trafic and parking lots in town centers. He'd never had the patience to sit it out for times and times until some consume-addict middle aged house wife would finally ridden herself of that mobile phone clinging to her ear and drive off, simply ignoring the world around her, while rows of cars were queuing hungrily behind that rare jewel of a soon to be emptied parking slot in center town. 

  
  


Severus stood up from the comfortable chair, moved over to Aurelian, slipped a kiss on his fathers check and disappeared to a barn downstairs, first crossing a cobble-stoned court and then over to a long low building that had been transformed into a garage. Montmuran was not only a huge fortress, but also one of the biggest agriculture enterprises in the Ille-et-Villaine Departement of Brittany. He walked along a row of tractors, Manitous(1) and dirth-clad 4-wheel drives until he found his father's ‚good' car, a black Volvo 940 Diesel break.

  
  


„Mamie(2) told us you'r going to town, Sev!", Morigan smiled cunningly at her uncle,"You do not mind giving us a lift, don't you?" Next to her sat squezzed in the back seat Harry and eldest sister's Gwenael's twins Livius and Lucius.

  
  


He gave a small sigh, dropped into the driver's seat, put on the safety belt and tried to get the break out of the mess of tractors and other farm engines. 

  
  


In fact, he'd hoped for some time alone at Rennes. He had something in mind -before picking up Albus- where curious children would only be a burden. But it could not be helped; they were on the back bench! Determinded! And he had lacked the guts to argue with four underage wizards at once and ....during Summer School break! 

He'd get them off his trail easily enough, either droping them at ‚La FNAC'(3) or directly in front of the UGC cinema, although that trick may cost him a bribe of 150 to 200 French Francs if he included the tickets, the soft drinks and the snacks. 

  
  


„What are you going to do?", an inquisitive underage wizard, who happened to be his nephew Livius started interrogatories, as soon as they were through the village of Les Iffs.

  
  


„I pick up an old friend of Papa at the rail station!", he answered still honestly, watching the road with one eye and the underage wizard plague with another eye in the mirror. They believed him obviously. Mamie Geneviève had told them the same thing! He turned to the left and at Montgréval took the ‚Departementale 27' , direction Bécherel-Dinan. 

  
  


„That cannot keep you busy for the whole afternoon, Sev? Mamie told me he's arriving at 19h25 only!", the next little pest quizzed him.

  
  


„None....of...your...business!", Severus mind already formed a Snape-like reply with 5 seconds in between each word and dripping of sarcasm. But before he could pronounce the unforgivable sentence, that would have led to the whole bunch clutching to his hands for the whole afternoon, simply because they where curious, his brain stopped him. 

  
  


„Shopping!" Yeah, that is a convincing thing. People who go to town habitually go shopping. It was only half of a lie, anyhow. Well, there was the ‚Nationale 137' and only 10 km left to Rennes.

  
  


„You hate shopping, Sev!", Morigan replied with a broad smile.

  
  


„Shit, Snape thought,"I forgot that she knows me for 15 years by now,.....but as long as she keeps Harry as far away from me as possible, she'll be pardoned for her impudent remark.

  
  


„Shopping for books!", he added with the most innocent expression his face could display. To distract his interrogators attention, he dug into the music CD compartment of his father's.

  
  


„Mind if I put Celine Dion on?" They'd adore this. All underage French pests loved Celine Dion. Perhaps this would shut them up for a while.

  
  


„Celine who?", Harry asked.

  
  


„Thanks boy, I adore you!", Snappe said to himself inwardly. The CD slipped into the player and while the music started, Morigan was already deep into enlightening Potter -raised with muggles but obviously unspoiled by any attempt of getting some musical sub-culture into his brains - on cool Canadian blond head Celine and her merits with the title song of that film about a sinking ship.......Titanic, if he remembered correctly. Yeah, it was Titanic, because during last summer-term holidays he'd endured it with the pests minus Potter for almost 3 hours at UGC......lots of water, icebergs, people drowning and.....Dion. While Morigan was still acclaiming the merits of some baby-faced American actor who went be a strange Italian name that reminded Severus of a spiced noddles dressing, the four saviour letters ‚FNAC' appeared already in front of him. He drow the car to the side, quickly fumbled two hundred French Francs out of his pocket and pressing them into one of the kids' hands „If you want to go to the cinema! Enjoy yourselves. 19h at the train station parking!" and then disappeared, as soon as the traffic light switched from red to green.

  
  


„Well done," he congratulated himself,"Now just something that's about the size of this monster and off we go!" In fact, the first thing he'd do was to get Harry's birthday present.That was the reason, why he could not have the underage pest around.... Then he'd see Yannick for the rest of the afternoon.

  
  


Snape decided to slightly shrink a bright red Renault Espace, instead of his father's car. They were so huge, the owner would not even realize that some 10 cm were missing at the end.The parking slot was right off Place St.Anne, in ‚Rue Rallier-du-Baty'.It was too good to be abandoned for the sake of some police man's nerves only.

  
  


Severus crossed the beautiful ‚Place'. It was surrounded by XVIII. century stone constructions and some beautifully restored half-timber constructions, survivors of the great fire of 1720 and which were a speciality of Brittany and of Rennes in particular. 

  
  


The tradition of half-timbered construction goes back to the Middle Ages, during which Rennes was surrounded by forests, and wood was a construction material that was both strong and easy to work. He crossed ‚Rue des Dames' and entered exactly one of these half-timber constructions. It was perhaps XV.century, the timber logs were beautifully carved with floral motives and leaves. Under the roof some menacingly looking gargoyles -also carved in timber logs- streched out their toungues. They had sly faces and long ears. Each of them held to something that starngely ressembled a skull.On a wodden plate that hung on two solid iron chaines, one could read „Lagrange & Delattre - Antiquaries since 1680". Severus opened the door and a light sound of a bell informed the shop's owner that he had a visitor.

  
  


A fashionably dressed woman in her late forthies stepped out of a backroom. When she recognized the man who'd entered the shop, she smiled broadly.

  
  


„Holy Merlin! Severus, it must have been ages since I have last seen you!" She kissed him French style on the cheek. „How's teaching the little ones going? How's life?" 

  
  


Snape gently took her hand in his. „Myriam, you'r looking wonderful. The years have been so kind with you! You look younger then ever!" His lips hardly touched her skin, when he brushed a kiss on her hand. His soft baritone dripped with sarcasm, but it was not mean....more mocking.

  
  


„You lying bastard! Your nasty little compliment will not get me back under your bedsheets!"

  
  


„And I always believed, that you bullied me to get under these very sheets for your pleasure!" Severus knew Myriam for ages. 

  
  


Although she was his senior by almost fiftheen years, there had been a time in their lifes, when they'd exhausted one another in a passionate affair. She had been knowledgable and wise, he young and wild. Myriam had been the teacher, he the avid pupil. It had never been love, just a rare, strange and unique relation between a man and a woman, that went from friendship to passion to sex and back to friendship, without leaving scars or a broken heart. Actually they were in their friendship phase, but somewhat Severus doubted that Myriam would be content with this, having him around for another five weeks.

  
  


„How's Marie?" Myriam asked. She had given the Norwegian Forest Cat to Severus a long time ago, when he'd come back from a war that had left so many scars on his body and soul that no other human being then his mother had been able to approach him for almost a year.

  
  


„A spoilt furball! She always reminds me of you."

  
  


„What else then nasty little compliments and dripping sarcasm are on your program for today?"

Severus put his arms around her slender waist, pressing her lean well-formed body against his.

  
  


„I came for a birthday present. If there is someone in this town who can help me, it is you! Do you still have the ‚Pensive'?"

  
  


„To be given to some sweetheart of yours, you bastard!" Myriam mocked. She could feel through the thin layers of cloth that separated them, that Severus was not at all immune to her. He'd never been and it was good so.

  
  


„You bet! Blond, 90-60-90 and dumb..........yeah and hardly 18!", he replied with as serious a voice as he could muster under these circumstances. 

  
  


„I'd rather get you that XVII. century poisoned Scottish dirk then. That's more worthy of a Potions Master then a ‚Pensive'. She'll enjoy!"

  
  


Snape kissed her gently on the forehead, his arms slipped lower, his embrace became firmer. He locked his black eyes into her emerald green ones.

  
  


„The kid's birthday is on Sunday. He really needs it and I thought, it would make not only a nice and fancy decoration on his nighttable, but also a useful object to have.......in his actual state of mind."

  
  


„So he allowed you finaly to take him?", Myriam asked in a very serious voice. 

  
  


„Under the condition, that he does not get in touch with the Old Religion, the Power and the Order. He should have given in 12 years ago! There's nothing wrong with the kid. I wish, Albus would have trusted my judgement then. That would have saved the boy a terrible childhood and many troubles!"

  
  


Severus had let go. He sunk into a comfortable ‚Richelieu'(4) draped in dark red. He'd known Myriam for his entire life, he'd trusted her for his entire life. Apart his parents and Albus she was the only person that knew most of his secrets. It had been her down-to earth approach of life that had kept him sane after the Potter's death, the dungeons of the British Ministry of Magic and his three months at Azkaban. 

  
  


Myriam looked on the thoughtfull slender frame clad in grey sitting in her burgundy ‚Richelieu'.

  
  


„It has started once again?"

  
  


Snape simply nodded.

  
  


„Worse then before........and it frightens hell out of me! For the last nine years I had only to deal with the remainders of his first rule and this was already bad enough.............disgusting. I have to go back to this piece of shit, bend my knee, kiss his damned robe and play the obedient servant....................;Hell, I'd give my life to blow him to pieces..............but even that would not work. You cannot blow him to pieces any more!"

  
  


Myriam gently placed her hands on Severus shoulders. She had almost forgotten the strenghth that was hidden under the light wool fabric of his suit. Sometimes, for his own sake, she wished, he'd been weaker, of an easier temper and mindset.......more lightheart, less responsible, less complex, of weaker intelligence.......more a normal man his age!

  
  


She had still painfull memories of the days, when 15 years ago he'd set out to war. After he'd left for England, she'd cried for hours, because she'd been frightened that he would not make it through the Dark. He'd been twenty years old! 

  
  


But Severus had come back! Wounded, hurt, broken to pieces, almost lifeless. 

  
  


Myriam wished deep in her heart that she would never ever again be obliged to see him return from a war. He belonged to a race that had made it a habit to die on a battlefield.......with honour, most of the time! Besides Aurelian who'd made it through WW II unscathed, theirs always perished in the end. Hadn't Viviane looked Merlin into an elm tree at Broceliande to give the family a good start with a bad tradition?

  
  


Myriam wished that he'd never ever again be forced to fight. He had to much a ‚Vanquish or Perish' mentality to keep himself out of harms way. And although he gave that impression to be solid as a rock , there was this vulnerability! It cost Severus more then he'd ever admit to pretend that he was dark. To participate in all those abominable crimes of Voldemort's together with his Death Eaters in cold blood! What use to rationalize that each unforgivable curse he'd spoken was in a sense simple self-defense, a way to keep his cover and to allow for a constant flow of information, when the blood spilt clung to his hands and soul. Those who'd sent him to the war did not have his nightmares. He had always been alone with his ghosts.......

  
  


Snape gave a glance to his wristwatch. Although he would have liked nothing better, then to stay here with Myriam, call Aurelian to pick up the kids and even Albus from the rail station, he had still to see Brother Yannick Le Floa'ch at „Notre Dame en Saint Meraine". He'd apparate to make it on time.

  
  


„Why don't you bring the ‚Pensive' yourself to Montmuran?", he asked Myriam. His voice was not as firm as usual. He did not care to hid his emotions in front of her. „Aurelian and Geneviéve would love to see you. You would do well with a small break from your business and town life!"

  
  


„Is this an indecent proposal, Severus?", she smiled.

  
  


Snape gave her a small nod before he disparated with a pop. 

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  


1. Heavy duty, mult- purpose farm engines with a telescop claw 

2. French children call their grandmothers „Mamie" 

3. French general store selling music, books, films and tickets for concert. 

4. Armchair, named after Cardinal Richeleu, minister of Louis XIV 


	16. A Defence against the Dark Arts

Chapter 16 A Defence against the Dark Arts

  
  


Severus appareted in the Thabor, 10 hectares of park and garden in the heart of the city of Rennes. It is one of the most beautiful public parks in France and only a heartbeat from Notre Dame en Saint Meraine, the cathedrale. Thabor was open to the public since the 18th century, but was redesigned between 1860 and 1867 by the famous landscape architect, Denis Buhler, who laid out the main areas of the park : the formal French-style garden , the botanical garden, the Catherinettes garden(1), and the rose garden. The greenhouses and bandstand were designed by the city architect, Jean-Baptiste Martenot. 

  
  


His rendezvous waited already in the Botanical garden of Thabor. Father Yannick Le Floa'ch, in his robes of the Benedictin Order was five or six years older then Severus.They'd met during Snape's service with ‚Commando Marine', when Yannick was still a professional soldier. He'd found God relatively late in life and entered the Benedictine order after having finished his five years contract with the French Forces. 

  
  


Yannick was not only an old comrade and dear friend of Severus, he'd also taken his research during his religious studies into a direction that was of great interest to the Potions Master: Yannick was one of the very few Vatican-appointed exorcists in France. Although an exorcist, Yannick never ever had problems with those of Severus' kind: For him it were the words of Saint Columba that defined their relationship on a philosophical level! 

St Columba had said "Christ is my Druid" and Yannick believed that Druidry represented that ancient wisdom which lies deep within men, and that could connect them once again to the Earth and her wonders. Christianity in their lands of Brittany had been built upon the foundations laid already by the Druids - their seasonal observances were developed as festival days, their sites were built upon with churches, and the Druids had welcomed Christianity for they with their powers of seership and connection to the Source knew of Christ's coming, and allowed their practices to develop into what became known as the Celtic Church(2). The purity of the early Celtic church had been always startling to Father Le Floa'ch - because it had not lost its connection with Nature and with Nature's mysteries held in such awe by the Druid sages. The religious poetry of those times long gone bye now still conveyed a powerful sense of purity and clarity. 

  
  


The two men walked for a moment in silence between the flower beds. About 3,000 species of plants were laid out in a large spiral, a journey through which begins at the outside and finishes in the centre. The plants can be identified by their coloured labels : red for medicinal plants, white for food plants, yellow for plants used in industry, black for poisonous plants and finally green for plants without any particular properties. When they'd reached the center of the spiral, Severus knelt down to look at a particularly intriguing poisunous plant.

  
  


„Yannick, I need your opinion on a delicate issue!", the Potions Master started the conversation.

„I did not doubt that, when you asked me for this meeting under four eyes. They still have problems over there in England, haven't they.............and you are still deep in it?"

  
  


Snape acknowledged with a nod. Then he explained in short the method Voldemort had used to recover a body. He needed help on this one. He'd never been in Satanism. Severus had always considered these practices a half-science only, close to cryptozoology and esoterism, stuff non-magic folk bothered with, believing it had to do with the real powers........if ever they knew, what ‚The Power' was. The Catholic Church always had had the best experts in matters of Satanism. This did not mean that their expertise had helped them during the unholy days of the Inquisition and the earlier medieval witch hunts to get hold of whatever witch, wizard, sorcerer, mage or other real stuff. What had been burned on the stakes, had been merely victims of difamation or power politics.......or simply innocents who'd been in the wrong neighborhood with the wrong social behaviour.

  
  


„Well,"Yannick put his hand on Snape's shoulder, encouraging him to stand up and continue their walk through the Thabor botanical garden, „I dare say, the guy who opted for this dirty little rite was not very knowledgable.......not even in Satanism. Using the bones of the father, the flesh of the servant and the blood of the enemy is also subscribing to speedy decay!"

  
  


„So you mean, it wears off?" Snape grined dangerously. Being a Potions Master of reput, it had not been difficult to analyze that so-called ‚potion' Wormtail had brewed for Voldemort.

  
  


„Quicker then you can finish a ‚Paternoster'! But when it comes to that demon thing of yours and Mhyriddin, there you are in deep shit......"

  
  


Severus nodded. The Catholic Church had given demons a try over and over again. He knew that the ‚Saint Offizium' held a top secret collection of papers on this subject in the deepest vaults of the Vatican in Rome.

  
  


„Mhyriddin is absolutely right when he says that YOU have to find that very demon's weakness, if YOU want to rope him. It's always the opponent that makes the remedy."

  
  


„Some of yours have managed?", Snape asked; There was a strange mix of doubt and hope in his voice.

  
  


„You bet, Sev! But as to sucess stories...........there are not many. I think your folks and ours are about even when we look back on the last 1000 years. So you know as much as I do about the subject. How did that one turn into a pure manifestation of evil?"

  
  


Snape explained Harry Potter's story in some detail. 

  
  


„And you say, that before that Voldemort went to meat his fate with a two-years old toddler , you'd also given a try, while he was still human? Tell me, old friend, did it ever came to your mind, that this curse of yours, although he managed to protect himself by backfiring at the fife of you had not left him totally unscathed, when he went of for this Potter family and the kid?"

  
  


„Yannick," Severus replied grudgingly,"You cannot be half-death after getting a full blow of a very strong death curse right into your chest. Either you'r finished for real or you had a very powerful ward."

  
  


Le Floa'ch scrached his head. He was thinking very hard, putting all pieces of the puzzle Snape had given him together in different ways and aranging them logically in variations and alternative scenarios. Severus fixed his friend. 

  
  


„You have already an advantage, Sev! That dumb Satanist rite he used will make him feel pretty unwell in his body soon. I should not be surprised if he already contemplates signs of decay. But he's by now not aware of what he really is. He still believes himself a most powerful dark wizard, who wants to be the master of the world and at the same time as immortal as possible.......right?"

  
  


Snape nodded.

  
  


„It should be pretty easy for you to put a stopper to his decay with some potion of yours and make him continue to believe that he's just a mighty dark ‚woz'. Listen, that would buy all of us time to consult with our respective sources on ‚Demon baiting'. I will go to Rome and consulte the archives of the ‚Sain Offizium' if you wish so.......and speak to a couple of colleagues of mine. If that Voldemort is already streching out his filthy hands to distant shores, finding himself associates on the other side of the Mediterranean, it will spill over in the non-magic world one of these days. I cannot promise anything. I have first to speak with my boss Cardinal Rantzinger, if he'd allow us to join in a common effort on that one......."

  
  


„I have to speak with my boss, too Yannick!", Snape said with a mean smile. It was just an idea, but.......why not!"

  
  


Father Le Floa'ch gave a glance to his wristwatch:" I believe you have a rendezvous at the rail station, my friend. I'll get myself a ticket to Rome first thing tomorrow morning. We keep in touch.......and keep that kid out of his reach.........as far as you can!"

  
  


„That's what I have been trying for the last four years, but you know kids! They do not always listen, even if you mean well.........Thanks for your help, Yannick!", Snape replied before disparating with a ‚pop' from the desert Botanical Garden of Thabor.

  
  


Severus managed just in time to arrive at the train station. Cursing his father's preoccupation with the state of mind of the rennes ‚Aubergines'(3), he shrunk the Volvo break into the first parking space he found and jogged over to the platforms. He hoped, that the train had not arrived yet, imagining lively the stares of those brave tourists and travellers, when they'd be confronted with an old gentleman with long white hair and a long white beard, sporting strange robes instead of a normal muggle dress and........Well, anyhow. This country was full of freaks and they'd just take him for kind of ‚bab cool'(4) who's crossed the age limit for foolish behaviour. Sprinting down the stairs and up to Platform 2, he saw in a flash the four kids sitting at the rail station bistro and sipping soft drinks. Morigan, Harry, Lucius and Livius threw him glances that clearly indicated, they believed him to be totally nuts..........running as if the devil was after him. Severus did the unavoidable. He bumped into someone.

  
  


„Well, we'r in a hurry, aren't we?" The familiar voice of Albus Dumbledore ressounded in his ears, while the young Potions Master stepped back, ready for an excuse.

  
  


In front of him was an elderly gentleman with short hair and a short but full beard, sporting absolutely normal muggle clothes and carrying a leather travel bag. He held an edition of the ‚Times' clung under his left arm.

  
  


„Bless you, Albus!"

  
  


„Did you really think, I would........"

  
  


„I believe you are able of about everything, Albus!", Snape had got his breath back and was leading Dumbledore direction railway station bistro, to pick up the kids.

  
  


„Harry's fine?"

  
  


„He enjoys himself.......and he's falling ‚in love' with one of my nieces!" Snape giggled very un-Snape like. 

  
  


„The two of you get along?"

  
  


„Without weasly and Granger around, he's quite well-educated. He lives his life, I live mine. He's ending up to behave like a normal kid and enjoy normal kids' pleasures and interests...............well, he came twice to ask questions. I tell you later about this."

  
  


When the four kids saw Severus emerging from the stairs that led to the platforms with an elderly, white haired getleman by his side, Morigan placed some Francs on the table to pay their bill and they all made their way over to the car. 

  
  


„That's Professor Albus Dumbledore, an old friend of Papa!" Snape introduced the stranger to the children, while discreetly unshrinking the Volvo break.

  
  


Three out of four said politely ‚Hallo' to the elderly gentleman with kind blue eyes and white beard. Harry looked at the Headmaster as if petryfied. He almost forgot breathing over that surprise.

  
  


„Hullo Harry! Having good holidays?", Dumbledore woke him up from his silent stupor.

  
  


1. Catherinettes are women who are still single and aged 25 on St Catherine's Day 

2. In Scotland it is known as the Culdee church 

3. Nickname of the French female police auxiliaries who do the controls on parked cars in french Towns. They are called ‚Aubergines' because of the colour of their uniforms. Their authority is restricted to assign penalties to unruly drivers and ‚parkers' 

4. The French designation for a ‚hippie' or the Woodstock generation as a whole 


	17. The Dark Mark

Thanks for all the reviews. I'd also enjoy a bit of feedback concerning all the ‚historical stuff' I am giving you on France's Celtic lands of Brittany (and my home Normandy, which is right next door).

Well third effort to upload this chapter: The fanfic server unfortunately does not accept .gif in a .html file, therefore no sketch of the Fortress of Montmuran…. and somehow the middle part of this chapter was swallowed during the last upload. So here it is back and complete…..finally!!!!! ______________________________________________________________________

Chapter 17 The Dark Mark

During the ride back from Rennes to Montmuran Harry kept silence, feeling somewhere inside that it would not be appropriate to be inquisitive about Dumbledore's arrival in France. And Snape himself had given an explanation that was in more then one sense logical in the boy's eyes: Albus was an old friend of Aurelian from the days of the fight against Grindlewald! 

Was this perhaps the very reason, why Dumbledore trusted Severus? 

As soon as they arrived at the fortress, Dumbledore was carried away by Aurelian and Geneviève, while they children were sent to clean themselves up and change for diner. 

„Well, that means robes!", Morigan muttered into Harry's ear. „And we'll find ourselves stuck at the ‚Cat's Table' for the evening?"

„What?", whispered Harry. He did not understand completely. It was the first time they were requested to ‚change for diner'. Since his arrival at Montmuran it had always been the table in the Medieval Garden and apart clean hands and a proper face nothing was expected of them. Quite often, even some of the house elves took seats with the family for desert and coffee.

„Listen, I go and change and then I come to your room and explain!", Morigan replied in a very low voice before she was ushered away by her smiling mother. Harry turned to his staircase and the ‚Guescelin Chamber'. Fortunately his formal robes were in his trunk, also he had not expected that he'd need them during Summer Term Holiday. He cleaned himself up and changed. Then he waited for Morigan. The girl appeard half an hour later in a beautiful aubergine colour dress robe with high swung collar. An ancient looking silver clip , two dragons entwhined, was attached to the collar. Morigan's long black hair was wrung into a loose bun in her neck. 

„Gosh," Harry gave a deep sigh. Then he walked over to the girl, bent politely and reached out for her hand,"You are the prettiest witch I've ever seen!" 

„And I think, you do not need any of my explanations concerning tonight's diner! It is just more formal, to honour ‚Papie's'(1)friend and we will take it in the "Salle du Chevalier". You know the one with the large coloured 'vitraile' that describes the construction of the fortress and Tintenac's oath to protect the abbey St.George and their lands. That was the long story Geneviève told you last week, when we showed you through the central part of Montmuran that is also open to the public!"

"Well," replied a amused Harry, courteously proposing his arm to Morigan, "then let us go my noble Lady, so we may honour the grown-ups with our presence …."

The girl mockingly curtsied and took the proposed arm. Harry giggled all the while when he led her downstairs. Now, he was quite curious to be seated at that misterious "Cats' Table'.

When he and his 'lady-love' entered the "Salle du Chevalier", the boy understood immediately what trick they'd play on them: There was an enormous piece of medieval furniture dressed right in the middle of the "Salle". It was easy to have three dozen of guests seated in comfort, although for this evening it came up to some twenty chairs only. Cream coloured beautifully embroidered tablecloth and napkins, silver chandeliers and cutlery, delicate Sèvres porcelaine and plates and cristal glasses of different sizes were set around a lavish arrangement of flowers, that decorated the center of the table. The chairs had high, extensively carved backs - again Dragons Enthwhined - and the same motive was repeated in the embroidered cushions on the seats. A fire was lit in the giant chimney piece that covered almost entirely one side of the "Salle". The meadieval ironwrought candelabra and several big chandeliers threw a soft light. And sufficiently far away from this beautiful arrangement…………………..stood another, smaller table -nicely dressed so - which ensured that the attendants of the diner would not be disturbed by the chatter and laughs of the children. The grown-ups made it clear, that they wanted to be left to their own business tonight! 

Harry gave a small desperate sigh: He'd love to know, why the Headmaster of Hogwarts was here, but he was afraid that his curiosity would not be quenched soon. He decided to make the best of it and have fun with Morigan and the other kids, so he took the seat next to his 'lady-love' and keept an eye on the door. Considering the number of chairs at the high table, there would be other invitees then Dumbledore, too.

Finally the grown-ups came all in as a pack. They'd obviously had a drink together before diner. Dumbledore's hair and beard were magically brought back to their normal impressive length, and the Headmaster who had the Snape's mother at his arm and was chatting happily, looked his old Hogwarts self in burgundy red dress robes. Geneviève wore elegant light grey silk robes that matched her hair colour perfectly. A huge neclace with uncut rubis and emeralds was the single spot of colour on her outfit. The stones were set in gold. It were the same two dragons entwhined Harry had seen on Morigan's broach that held the stones.

That is one of our family's coats of arms,"the girl explained to Harry,"You can see it in the window and also carved in the mantlepiece of the chimney…."

"You have more then one coat of arms?", Harry wondered. He knew the Hogwarts coat of Arms and had seen that of Minerva McGonogall -a Scottish Tistle between the defenses of a stag- and he'd also realized that Draco Malfoy had one. While they were once forced to work together in a Potions class, he'd seen that Draco wore a ring, a so-called "chevalière" with something that ressembled a snake entwhined around a strange-looking sword.

"Sure," explained Morigan patiently. "In fact there is one coat of arms with each of our names. The 'Dragons' you see around 'mamie's' neck, in my brooch and the brooch of 'maman', that is the coat of arms of the Ducs of Brittany. It is very, very old and dates back to the days of King Arthur and the Round Table. It is a variation of the Pendragon. I have this one, because my 'papa' was the eldest son and designate heir to the title, until he died. Now Sev is the eldest son, but he has a coat of arms of his own,the one that goes with ‚Rogue de la Bédoyere' and he insists on keeping it, until he suceeds Aurelian one day…….. He does not want to take away ‚papa's' coat of arms from 'maman' and myself!"

„What's his?", Harry questioned. 

„The same two dragons of the Ducs of Brittany, but they hold the Pentagram between their claws."

„But that's a sign of dark magic?", Harry had let his instant thought slip out of his mouth aloud. He already regretted it, when Morigan -not to the slightest shocked by the remark- simply started to explain.

"Only if hung upside down, the top two points of the pentagram are reputedly representing the horns of the devil. The other way round, the five points of the pentagram simply represent the four elements -water, wind, fire and earth. The fifth point is for the Gods. There's nothing wrong with the pentagram, Harry even though it is indeed a very strong magical symbol......... You know, Sir Gawain of the Knights of King Arthur even carried it on his shield!"

The grown-ups had in the meantime taken their places. Snape - Harry could simply not grow accustomed to the laboriously long thing, that was his name in French - contrary to his Hogwarts habits of eternal black, wore heavy and very old fashioned forest green velvet robes. This gave him a strange semblance with some of his XVII. and XVIII. century ancestors that hung in Montmuran's large portrait gallery. His raven black hair was tied up in that habitual neat low ponytail, Harry had by now grown used too. He looked not at all like the ditty old bat that frightened them at school, but so much younger and livelier. Next to him sat a lady in similar old-fashioned heavy robes, only their colour was different. She wore night blue. It was very difficult to determine her age. She had classic features, a fine aquiline nose, amazingly blue eyes and dark brown hair that went down to her waist . It was laying open on her shoulders, only witheld by a fine silvery net, decorated with pearls. That net looked even more old-fashioned then her robes, although Harry had to admit it became her. The boy could not remember having her seen before at the fortress, but from her attitude towards Severus and his attitude towards her, they knew each other well. The looks they exchanged were full of complicity and from their affectionate smiles it was quite clear, that they had feelings for one another.

  
„That's a surprise!"Morigan grinned, „Myriam has come! She's really nice and she has always interesting stories to tell....."

„That's the lady next to your uncle?"

„Yes, she's ........let's say -kind of- Sev's girlfriend!"

„That does not get him in trouble with his ‚vows'?", Harry questioned. He was still making up his mind when it came to his Potions Master and he wanted to know a bit more about Snape, before he'd decide if or not he'd trust him.

Morigan shook her head:"No,his vows are very much different from the vows non-magic priests take: They are not about chastity and not sleeping with someone......male or female. It's not straight-laced vows he's taken!" Morigan grinned even more, before she continued in a low voice,"That must be unbearable for those poor non-magic fellows to say no to 'snogging' for a lifetime, don't you think so?"

Harry blushed slightly, when she took her considerations into such an embarassing direction. He'd already realized, that Morigan knew probably a bit more about what to do with a male then he could pretend to know, when it came to females.

„It is just about formal marriage. Marriage is for them," she pointed her chin at her uncle," the final recognition of having found a long term partner after the explorations of the spring time of their life. That's why they can marry only at 45. ......well, and they can only marry during the celebrations of Lughnasadh on 1st of August. And as we Celtic people are a wise and thoughtful race, they are sensibly offered the option of a one year-long trial marriage. If after that year you were still talking to each other, you can formally 'ratify' your marriage at the following Lughnasadh!"

Harry had not understood one single word. Nevertheless, the idea of test first, buy later seemed indeed pretty much wise and sensible to him. „Thanks for confusing me a bit more, Morigan!", he replied even more embarrased. His opinion about the gitty old bat was already shaken in each and every foundation and now he had just found out, that he had an obviously normal social life including a girlfriend and everything that went with female company......... 

„Why do you always say „they", by the way, when refering to your uncle?"

Morigan gave Harry suddenly a forbidding glance, that ressembled very much an overgrown gitty old bat in bad temper at Hogwarts. It seemed to be a family tradition to stare Gryffindors down. 

„No, no, no Harry Potter.......you'r already much too curious. Do not try and trick me to spill „family secrets".........if you want to know, you have to ask Sev! If he does not tell you himself, then you should consider it none of your business.....................and we -most certainly- will not indulge you , because we do not want you to be obliged to go back to these terrible relatives of yours. Professor Dumbledore would be mad at Sev and you would never ever be allowed to return to Montmuran for Christmas or for any other Summer Term Holiday of yours. Do me and yourself a favour, Harry! Stop asking please!"

„I am terribly sorry, Morigan!" Harry wispered. His cheeks flushed red and he felt truely ashamed because he'd tried to trick the girl into satisfying his stupid curiosity and had been caught in the very act. So she and all the others in this room most probably knew everything about the Dursleys and this miserable life of his on Privet Drive Nr. 4 and.........he'd not been Dumbledore's parcel delivered to Montmuran, but.........

„This means that nobody forced Severus to take me along for the holidays?"

Morigan shock her little black curls energetically: "No Harry, not the least. If you'd simply stop for five minutes to see in a person only what you want to see and open up your eyes.........."

Harry gave a deep sigh. Hermione had already criticized his hasty judgements and blindness, when it came to the people around him and she'd accused him and Ron more then once to be biased about everybody and everything, when they were in their childish moods. Perhaps Hermione and Morigan were right and he would be better off in life, if he'd opened his eyes from time to time. He gave a glance to the high table. He was bewildered, when he realized that there was an empty chair.

  
  


Snape grinced his teeth. The Dark Mark in his flesh was burning like hell. He'd hardly managed to exit the diner table without attracting everybodies attention. He'd seen it in Myriam's eyes and in those of Dumbledore and in his father's and mother's that they understood exactly what was going on. Already on the way back from Rennes to Montmuran, the Dark Mark had started to stich and to torment him, but he had been unwilling to pay attention. 

Now it was, as if something tried to tear the flesh of his arm with some medieval instrument of torture.The pain almost took his breath. He ran upstairs to his rooms, taking two steps at once. Then he flung of his green dress robes and exchanged them for the black Death Eaters robes and hood; Finally he picked up his wand and stuck it up his left sleeve. Not that he needed it, but Voldemort expected a ‚wizard' to carry a wand ....and so he would. He had hoped that the Dark Lord would leave him alone at least for the two summer months. He'd wished for a ‚delai de grâce' before going back to this war. But he'd known somewhere deep inside, that this was wishful thinking. Severus took a deep breath and steeled himself inwardly, because he knew that Voldemort's reception would not be the most pleasant. 

The Potter boy had repeated the Dark Lord's remarks on the graveyard for him and Albus:" Here", he'd said,"Six Death Eaters are missing! Three of them have died for my cause. One had been to much of a coward to return.....He shall pay for it....Another one has abandonned me forever....He will be destroyed.....And the last one is my most trusted servant and he is already working for me!" 

The killed Death Eaters did not count any more in the game. The one who had remained faithful was also dead. This had been Barty Crouch jr., so speedily dispatched by Fudge with a Dementor's Kiss. 

The one, who'd left him forever.......Severus prayed, that this had been a reference to Karkaroff. Voldemort could not know the truth about himself, as he had accepted thirteen yearsago to go through that living hell of the Ministry of Magic's interogations, which came closer to cold-blooded torture then questioning and he had remained in the Askaban death row under the eyes of the Dementors for three full months......Malfoy would have slipped this information to Voldemort and all behavioural patterns of Severus over the last nine years had been trimmed carefully to those of a man who'd lost his heart and soul in the dungeons and at the notorious wizards' prison.........

"Shit," the young Potions Master said to himself aloud,"I bet, I am in for the roughest night of my life!" 

Then he disparated with a ‚pop' from the save walls of Montmuran into the abyss of the Dark. 

  
  


1. ‚Papie' - French colloquial for ‚grandfather'


	18. The Vicious Game of Survival

Chapter 18 The Vicious Game of Survival

  
  


Voldemort stood motionless. His red eyes that strangely resembled cats' eyes pierced the night. He expected them at every moment, since his call had been strong and demanding. The long thin body of the Dark Lord was all covered in wide, black robes. He also wore a great cape with a hood to keep the signs of decay from the eyes of his Death Eaters and........... he'd chosen to call this assembly out in the open air, to prevent them from perceiving that slight smell of decomposing flesh that already floated around him. 

  
  


Wormtail, after having recovered from his last Cruciatus Curse had told him, that nothing had gone wrong with the ritual at all: It had been executed strictly by the book. The rat-like man had whimpered and trembled with fear the whole time, while Voldemort had pointed his wand at him. When in the end the Dark Lord seemed satisfied with his reply and refrained from another punishment of his, Pettigrew had been so relieved that he'd simply fainted under the mean laughter of his master and the mocking sizzling of Voldemort's highly dangerous snake Nagini. 

  
  


While the Dark Lord was questioning him, Nagini had wound her muscular, shiny black body of about 3 meters length around Pettigrew in slow, menacing serpentines, her emotionless eyes constantly and hungrily fixed at him. Wormtail sometimes did not know whom he was more frightened of: Nagini or her Master! This night, to his great relieve, the terrible beast was not present and he himself was ordered to stay behind the Dark Lord, therefore theoretically at last, out of the range of the terror of Voldemort's wand. 

  
  


Suddenly, light ,pops' and the swishing of fabric could be heard everywhere. The Death Eaters, hiding their faces under their black hood-like masks had almost all apparated at once at the calling of their master. Slowly and full of caution they progressed towards Voldemort and Pettigrew, who was hiding behind the Dark Lord. The hooded men formed a circle. 

  
  


Severus' brain worked at top speed. He'd been mentally preparing for this very moment since he'd listened to the story of young Potter in Poppy Pomfrey's hospital wing. With the added information from his friend Father Yannick Le Floa'ch concerning the instant subscription to decay, when choosing that Satanist ,Flesh-Blood-Bones' ritual, he'd decided, that his chances to make it through that meeting alive, were slightly better then 50:50. Who else then him, reputedly the best Potions Master actually alive could provide Voldemort with a kind of solution to his problem? 

  
  


Snape stepped between two other hooded creatures and took his place in the ring. He concentrated on building up a discreet ward for himself. Alive yes, unscathed no! That had been clear from the very moment he'd decided to return and continue his dangerous intelligence and infiltration mission for the Light. 

  
  


Although his ward, a very old and rarely used protective "Propugnaculum Charm" that could be dated back to ancient Rome, could not block the Death Curse, Aveda Kedavra', it would at least soften the ,Cruciatus Curse' which Voldemort always readily employed to rein in his Death Eaters.

  
  


The night of Voldemort's return, he'd contacted Lucius Malfoy accordingly to Dumbledore's orders. They'd constructed a careful legend, mixing a little bit of truth with a nice amalgamation of solid lies to leak via Malfoy to Voldemort. The story was, what Albus Dumbledore intended to do…………….against the express wishes of the British Ministry of Magic, as represented by Cornelius Fudge and some others. This legend was intended to give Severus a fall back position, if ever Voldemort expressed doubts:"Master, you know that it is impossible to apparate out of Hogwarts…..I could not leave, because I was constantly under Dumbledore's eyes and with that Diggory boy dead…….but the same evening I informed immediately Lucius Malfoy of whom I knew that he never ever betrayed you…….like I myself.etc. etc." 

  
  


The hooded shadows fell to their knees, one by one, pleading aloud and with fervour their allegiance to that piece of shit. One by one they kissed the hem of Voldemort's black robe. 

  
  


The Dark Lord! But Severus kept his concentration on the voices. He had the feeling that it was pure adrenaline instead of blood pulsing through his veines! He concentrated. They had already the names of the Death Eaters, Harry remembered from the cemetery: Pettigrew, Avery, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and indeed.......Lucius Malfoy. Seven! Parkinson would be there, too. Name Number 8. He himself was Number 9. With the Lestranges still at Askaban and their places in the Inner Circle of Voldemort kept for them in view of a return, once the Dementors would openly change sides that made eleven. But there were more hooded creatures around! All in all he'd counted up eighteen. 

  
  


Had Voldemort recruited new faces from the ranks of his followers and ,honoured' them already with the Dark Mark, without conveying the others? Where these shadows of the past? 

Harry had told them so, too: Seventeen at the cemetery, with Snape himself missing that very day! He kept listening. 

When a hooded creature pleaded allegiance with the voice of Cornelius Fudge, the Potions Master shivered!

  
  


„Dear Merlin," he prayed silently,"make it, that Alastar Moody and Albus Dumbledore had never been foolish enough to let this one in on their deal with the French Ministry of Magic!" Fifteen years ago, when he'd accepted to receive the Dark Mark to infiltrate Voldemort's circle of followers, it had been Moody, then Head of the Unspeakables at the British Ministry of Magic together with Dumbledore, who'd made the deal with his people! 

  
  


Voldemort stepped in front of Severus, who fell to his knees:" I am at your service, My Lord!", he said with a firm voice, loud enough for all the others to hear it, too. Then he took the black fabric of Voldemort's robe and pressed it against his lips.

  
  


„See, see, see!" The Dark Lord hissed like a snake. His voice was cold as ice and cutting like a knife,"This time you found your courage and returned, Severus, my precious one!"

  
  


Inwardly Snape jumped around like a boy at the first day of school holidays:"He does not know! The one he considered to be the one who has left him forever is Karkaroff!"

  
  


All other Death Eaters eyes were suddenly fixed on the two men. Tension rose in the cool night air. The black hooded creatures came closer, even Pettigrew stepped slightly forward from behind Voldemort's back to get a better view. Severus felt, they were hungry. They wanted to be feasted..................

  
  


„Crucio!" Voldemort sizzled softly and very dangerously. The tip of his wand pointing at the Potions Master.

  
  


Severus had been prepared for this. He'd known that he would be in for physical pain and he'd been thinking for a while, how he should handle the issue: Going down immediately, giving a display of weakness, cowardice and fear or standing up to it, as long as humanly possible? 

  
  


During Voldemort's first reign, he'd earned his place in the Inner circle of the dark Lord for ruthlessness, power and courage! His way through the dungeons of the Ministry of Magic and Azkaban had also been a silent way of courage in order to keep up his cover. 

  
  


Severus set his mind on something that helped him to concentrate, while his body trembled under the unspeakable pain, Voldemort inflicted on him. He did not bend his head, but looked straight into the Dark Lord's red eyes! His black deep and unreadable pits wormed their way into the Dark Lord; silently, steadily, standfastedly.......deeper and deeper into the mind of the demon. It was a dangerous game. If ever the Dark One would realize what he was doing, he was good for an ‚Aveda Kedavra' before he could even breath. But Voldemort maintained the Cruciatus Curse vigorously, feasting on the pain he inflicted.

  
  


After a time that seemed interminable to Snape, he had to put one arm against the ground to prevent himself from crumbling. His black robe was by then firmly scotched to his back. Cold sweat running in streams over his body, but he did not turn his black eyes from Voldemort's red eyes. He was now inside the mind of the demon. Fortunately, the things he saw and read were more terrifying then his own suffering. Reading the mind of a demon helped the young Potens Master to refrain from crying out his pain, from giving Voldemort and the other Death Eaters that satisfaction of seeing him break......

  
  


The circle of Death Eaters watched in curious silence. The tension in the air became more and more unbearable. A cruel smile played around the thin line that was Voldemort's mouth. He did not lift his wand. Mercilessly it pointed at Snape.

  
  


Severus' breating went more and more irregular. He had the feeling, he'd choke. The Cruciatus Curse pressed against his rib cage , entwined it with more and more strength. He had the impression that a fire hand snatched and pressed his heart, but he still did not bent and neither did he allow himself to open his mouth and cry out his pain. His eyes did not quit the eyes of the Dark One. 

  
  


Suddenly a cruel smile went over Voldemort's thin and ugly face. The Dark Lord lowered his wand:"Finite Incantatum!", he murmured with deep satisfaction. 

  
  


Snape immediately unlocked his black eyes from the cruel red eyes of the Dark Lord, bent his head and fought for breath. His whole body trembled and shivered. Although the Cruciatus Curse had been lifted, the pain was not gone. It took always some time, before it faded away. The Potions Master closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating to get his heart beat back under control.

  
  


„My precious one! You've always been full of pride and courage. Not even Askaban had been able to take this away from you, I heard!", the Dark Lord spoke in a soft, dangerous voice.

  
  


Instead of pain, Severus felt for a short instant a deep feeling of relief: He knew about Askaban! He probably also knew, that contrary to all other Death Eaters that had been caught, tried and freed in the end, he had not pretended having been forced to act under the ‚Imperius Curse' but simply kept his silence. Practically this could mean, that Voldemort still considered him faithful beyond doubt. 

  
  


Voldemort gave a cruel smile. His eyes wandered over the bent body at his feet. Having kept his silence instead of lying his ass out of Askaban did not make up for having refused the first call. The wand rose again.

  
  


Snape murmered inaudibly:" Consipio!" His mother had taught him this little spell, when he'd still been a child. Although managable even for a gifted child, this was a powerful piece of white magic. A dark one like Voldemort would most probably not even know about its existence - ‚Consipio!' - used by healers to keep a patient conscious. Nothing else! He needed to keep conscious, although the ‚Cruciatus Curse' of Voldemorts still did not wear off. Floods of pain roled through his body and the beast rose his wand again............

  
  


„Ossifragus!" Cruel, almost inaudible for the other Death Eaters that relished seeing one of their lot being tortured. The wand pointed at Severus left shoulder. 

  
  


He had the feeling, some terrible force would smash an axe through his collarbone. The arm that had helped him to keep upright on his knees simply crumbled. He lay flat on the ground, his face buried in the cool grass, grasping desperately for breath. The breaking of his clavicle had made a strange noise, like metal being scrapped over a stone surface.

  
  


Voldemort smiled. This one was tough. Not even a sigh. He'd just problems to breath. The wand rose again. It would be interesting to see what the aurors had done to his Death Eater that so obstinately had refused to ask for pardon or redemption. „Expapillatus!"

  
  


Severus was still struggling against the numbing pain that wanted to take his senses, when he felt that his black robes were magically torn apart. He felt the cool night air caressing his sweat-soaked scar-ridden back. A tiny moan escaped his clenched lips, but it was absorbed by the grass. Only seconds later the young man felt the menacing touch of a wand tip on one of the scars. It was like a caress first, but then it transformed into a sharp, cutting knife. The skin burst open. Warm blood was mixing with the cold sweat on his back. The wand of the Dark One softly caressed the next scar. The tiny moan swallowed up by the grass was now followed by a louder moan. Voldemort felt satisfaction building up. He was so engaged in his mischief that he overheard the next moan, that followed the next old scar reopened cruelly with his wand tip.

  
  


„Sopire!" Severus pressed through clenched teeth. „Sopire!", twice to make sure it had a bit of an effect. He needed his senses and brain. He could not indulge in abandoning himself into the merciful arms of unconsciousness. Another powerful piece of white magic his mother had taught him almost thirty years ago. He still remembered the reason, why she had done it: They had been together in the forest and there they had found him : helpless, panicing, entangling his hurt wing even more in the net a ruthless poacher had drapped to catch doves. Doves were by some considered a culinary feast and even so hunting them with nets and glue sticks was forbidden, few hunters cared. But that day, it was no innocent bird of love caught in the terrible net but a huge,black raven with obsidian eyes that already went from sheer terror to ressignation and acceptance of death. His mother cast the spell and benumbed the raven. Then the two of them disentangled the birds wing and feet and brought him back to Montmuran. Before Cicero was fully reestablished, Severus himself had cast ‚Sopire' often; it was easier to care for a wild animal while it was benumbed. The raven had never left him since! 

  
  


Voldemort had the impression that it would be better to go back to business now, before this arrogant, proud bastard would die under his wand. He had always been a stubborn one, Severus. He'd rater swallow his own tongue then to gratify his Lord and fellow Death Eaters with wincing, whining and crying. They'd done a good job, the aurors of the Ministry of Magic and the Dementors of Askaban.......there was certainly hardly any soul left in that one, but a tremendous amount of hatred and dark. „Crucio!", Voldemort whispered softly under his breath, his wand pointed at the bloody mess that had been Snape's back. 

  
  


„Consipio!", the last grain of reason in Severus replied even softer. He could not afford to drift away and to abandon himself to unconsciousness now, if he wanted to leave this dreadful place alice. A terrible surge of pain cut through his body, before he heard Voldemort dismiss the other Death Eaters with a stern voice.

  
  


„Get off, now! You have feasted enough. I will call you back soon. Now I have to do some business with my precious Severus, after he finally decided to return to me! Go!"

  
  


The young sighted with relief. He had won this vicious game of survival! They were back in business with the Dark Lord and.............he'd be able to bring home the name of Cornelius Fudge as one of the Death Eaters. Now at last, the frontlines were clearly drawn......with the British Minister of Magic himself a devote servant of the Dark Lord. He would not have been in so terrible pain, he would have laughed at the pervert beauty of that situation: Better stay in France and let ‚Perfide Albion' go to hell all by herself............

  
  


„Finite Incantatum!", Voldemort stated matter-of-factly, putting his wand back into the left sleeve of his robe. 

  
  


„Now I hope I thaught you that lesson, my precious Severus! At my next call no excuses of yours will be accepted.............and I do not give a damn if or not you can apparate from that fucking school of that old fool Dumbledore. See to it, that you get the problem solved, or you will not get away with some trite ‚Crucios' and a bloddied back next time!" 

  
  


The dark wizard's cruel red eyes observed the young Potions Master with scientific interest. He'd be pretty much handicapped by that broken collarbone to get on to his feet with some dignity. That was another thing precious little Severus always had clung to......his dignity! Well! Voldemort smiled, his ugly mouth twitching.

  
  


He tried to take a slightly deeper breath to collect what rested of his force. It would take him a while to get up, but he would not give the Dark One the pleasure to see him on all four, like an animal or a baby. Severus somehow managed to roll to his aching back and then put his right hand to the ground and gave himself a good push up. He was on his feet. Only his will kept him from instantly blacking out and crumbling again to the ground. His left arm hung by his side, entirely useless. He pulled it against his chest with his unharmed right hand. Finally he turned around to face the demon.

  
  


„What do you command, My Lord!", he asked with a firm voice. His dark black pits locked back into Voldemorts dangerous red eyes immediately. 

  
  


When he saw Snape's ashen face and the expression in the man's eyes, Petter Pettigrew instinctively hid behind his Master's back. He'd always been afraid of Severus. Already during their schooldays he had tried to keep as far away from him, as possible. There was something menacing and violent in him, that Pettigrew could neither define nor understand. Even now, after having been submitted to a terrible trial, he stood tall and did not back off from Voldemort. He was a walking mess, but his voice did not betray the slightest emotion. During his years at Hogwarts, as Ronald Weasley's rat Scabbers Pettigrew had seen quite a bit of the batty, gloomy and terrifying Potions Master, but today - bloodied and with robes torn to pieces- he was even more terrifying and impressive. Better to get out of that one's field of vision.

  
  


„Severus, you will brew me a potion!" Voldemort started in a business like voice," There has been a side effect from my recent ressurection that I wish to make disappear for good."

  
  


Snape came a couple of steps closer. It cost him an enormous effort to walk, but right at that moment, when the Dark One himself would admit the failure of that silly Satanist rite, he had had performed on himself, the young Potions master did not want to miss a glimps into the monster's mind. He had not enough strenghth left to do this from too far away. He had to get closer. And then there was this putrid smell! Already when Voldemort had indulged himself in the pleasure of breaking Severus old scars open one by one, he had smelled it: A corpse in an advanced state of putrefaction.........

  
  


„My Lord, I will do whatever I can for you, but I need detailed information on what has happened to create for you the adequate potion!" 

  
  


Snape's voice was calm and controlled. He'd have his total breakdown when he was out of this shit here. He'd roll up under his blanket in his bed and cry like a child..............there it would not matter and Myriam would hold him! Although this time there was no need to care for his sanity. Hatred was a powerful weapon for a man who wanted to keep his sanity. Thirteen years ago, after Voldemorts first fall he'd felt soiled and abased. He had not been prepared for what the Light would do to him, what Dumbledore allowed to happen in the dungeons of the Ministry of Magic and later on in Askaban. If it would not have been for Moody, he'd have spent more then three months in the notorious wizards' prison. Albus had been convinced that three months were not long enough for the Death Eater who was rumoured to be Voldmort's right hand man with dozens of killings on his account, including Ministry aurors. This time there was no feeling of humiliation! Pain, yes for sure! Humiliation, no! He had known, that this would happen and as it had been the Dark One himself who had hurt him, it made things even easier for Severus. The more he hated Voldemort, the stronger his own dark power would grow........and he'd need that dangerous strenghth to get this demon back into a bottle.

  
  


Voldemort started to explain matter-of-factly. An outsider who would have listened to the dark wizard could have presumed, the creature was completely normal and sane, by his way of speaking.

  
  


Severus nodded. From time to time he asked short questions and Voldemort replied willingly. It took them more then two hours. In the end Severus had extracted every grain of information he knew he'd need to buy them time and stop the decay..........in a certain manner.........in a manner that would make him -the Potions Master - indispensable for the creature. The more he'd be indispensable, the closer he'd be to further information; on the Dark One himself, but also on his plans and desires.......and it was partially a life insurance! This was disgusting from one end to the other, but it could not be helped.

  
  


„Give me ten days, My Lord!", Severus said calmly. „In ten days time I will return with a stopper to this physical decay." Then he added slyly and with a mean look in the direction of Wormtail,"I may also need a bit of each of the three ingredients that were used in the original potion that ressurected you.............a little bit later!"

  
  


„That should be no problem, my precious Severus!, the Dark Lord purred dangerously with a short glimpse over his shoulder, „And as to that Potter boy, you should not have problems of finding yourself what you need, when the pupils return to Hogwarts! You may go now!"

  
  


„Thank you, My Lord!" Severus replied in his best ‚obedient servant' voice, throwing another mean look at Pettigrew, who visibly trembled. Then the young Potions Master forced his bloodied and broken body down to one knee. His healthy right hand let go the numb left arm. He picked up the hem of Voldemorts black robe delicately and pressed it against his lips. When he was back on his feet he forced himself into a last strainuous effort. With a light ‚pop' he disparated from that place of horror and pain. 


	19. The Return of an Ally

I re-loaded this chapter, because I had the feeling that some of you would appreciate a bit of historical explanations in the footnotes, when it comes to the Cardinal's reminiscences of Grindlewald and WW II.

Please do not hesitate to review! That's the real pleasure of the writer………besides telling his story!

Thanks to 'Ranger' for his encouraging reviews: Do not worry, Snape will get out of his mess of Chap.18, but only in Chap.20!

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Chapter 19 The Return of an Ally

Father Yannick Le Floa'ch stretched his aching back. He'd been through each and every paper the ‚Saint Offizium' hid in its most secret library deep down the vaults of the Vatican. 

Having reported to his boss, Cardinal Ratzinger on what he'd learned from the Count Rogue de la Bedoyère concerning the evil manifestation named 'Voldemort' that by now for almost twenty years tormented the British Isles magic and non-magic communities, he'd been granted instant access and the support of several highly trusted and qualified research librarians. 

The Cardinal himself had been an exorcist in his youth and he still remembered all to well the 1940s when a terrible dark wizard -Grindlewald- had boosted a puppet, a piece of scum - to become a dictator that first made the world tremble and then drowned it in blood. 

From the end of the First World War, through the great economic crisis in 1929, up to the 'Anschluss' (1) of Austria, the Munich Conference and finally the unlawful aggression on 1st September 1939 and following annexation of Poland, the Dark had built up its strength. The years 1940 to 1945 (2) had been the cataclysm, the years of open battle with the Dark Forces; millions had perished in that war, magic and non-magic. The aftershocks of Grindlewald's terror could still be felt in hundreds of small dirty wars all over the world; wars that until today had cost even more lives then the great battle of Rantzinger's youth.

The Cardinal straightened up in his comfortable chair. He was a very old man and he could already feel in his heart that soon he would be allowed to leave this faltering body to rest his soul in eternal peace somewhere in Heaven. He took another sip of wine, then he addressed Yannick:" Did you know, that I knew not only the father of the young Count de la Bedoyère, but also his grandfather?"

Father Le Floa'ch shook his head. He was not even aware of a relation between Aurelian and the old man in the armchair by his side, although he'd heard some rumours about Ratzinger's dash and daring during World War II, when still a very young Jesuit priest.

"He'd been of great help to many of us, you must know! It was during the German Occupation of france, the Vichy government, the roundups by collaborators of the Nazis, not only of Jews, but also of Catholic priests, communists and each and every other potential resistant. Those where days of strange friendships and marriages of reason ……….Even today there are still a few very old and crumpled men around in the Vatican who own their lives to the old Duc of Brittany. Montmuran had always been open for those of us, who were persecuted by the forces of the Dark in the days of that devilish dictator and his puppeteer Grindlewald! Since St.Colomba sent his first missionaries to the Celtic lands of France, the Ducs of Brittany have been our natural allies, although they never took over our ways........."

Yannick remembered that in 1032 already, Severus ancestor Alain III, Duc and Prince of the Breton Nation, founded the Abbey St.George at Rennes for one of his sisters - Adèle- and he gave her the fief of Tinteniac, the right of high justice and his knight Donoual to defend the abbey and the nuns as their champion and in times of war. 

In fact, Montmuran itself had been constructed to protect the abbey, its blossoming extensions and the churches that rose everywhere around the Brocéliande Forest. Thinking about this historical fact and Ratzinger's memories of war , the Benedictine priest suddenly understood how close their ties were indeed. 

„I think, Yannick, you should not restrict yourself to worming through dusty old documents and long forgotten parchments!", the Cardinal gave his young Benedictine subordinate a sly smile," I could imagine that some more active involvement would be.............well, perhaps not expected but, appreciated .........I doubt our magic friends will refuse, if you offer with tact and diplomacy!"

Le Floa'ch stared intensely at the pattern of the priceless Persian rug that covered the floor of the living room of Cardinal Ratzinger in the premises of the Vatican. He seemed suddenly very much interested by the expertly woven flower design and the beautiful colours of the old carpet. He let the words of his boss sink in one by one. If he had not drunken to much of that delicious red wine that had been their companion during this nightly discussion, his boss was not only allowing him to provide Severus with information from their secret library, but get involved.........himself. He was an exorcist and in his professional career he'd already come over very strange things, very evil manifestations and spectres of the past; But he'd never ever hoped that in his lifetime he'd be allowed to go against a .........demon!

„I suggest, my young Benedictine friend, that you inform your friend, the Count de la Bedoyère, that he may inform HIS boss..........that it had happened before, and it will happen again!", Ratzinger added cryptical.,"The Old Alliance has not been forgotten. When there is dark, there is light!"

Yannick gasped at the words of the old cardinal. The sly old fox knew much more then he'd give away. The way he'd spoken about Sev's boss gave the impression that he knew something, Yannick did not and that made him itchy; He was not for nothing a Benedictine! They'd always been terribly curious, much to the despair of their Jesuit colleagues, who'd spent centuries and centuries of hiding the more interesting ‚stuff' in deep dungeons, away from the eyes of the world.

„Eminence, „Yannick ventured,"I often wondered.........."

Ratzinger did not let the Benedictine finish his sentence:"About the stone rings, the druids, the legends, the Forest of Brocéliande.................Yannick, don't be so stupid. There is always a solid foundation of down-to-earth truth in legends. If this would not be the case, we'd call them fairy tales for children." Then the Cardinal took another long sip from his crystal wine glass and started to tell Father Le Floa'ch the truth:

„The boss -so to say- of your young friend is Myrhiddin - Merlin - and he's as a matter-of-fact the son of the Devil, from whom he'd inherited his extraordinary magical powers and his immortality. But Merlin was nevertheless born to a woman, and from her the ‚Old One' inherited all the rest; his soul, his heart and his humanity. Merlin represents the balance between the Dark and the Light.....when we look up to the sky and think about heaven, he just has his feet solidly rooted in Mother Earth and thinks about how to keep that whole mess together and going. That has always made us natural allies. When Dark comes, it upsets Mhyriddin's precious balance, so he turnes straight forward to the Light..........always! And he's never bantering about sending out his most gifted …….well…..'collaborators'……" 

„And what do you think of this ‚Demon'? From what I told you, Eminence, is there something that comes to your mind?"

Ratzinger gave another sly smile and a short nod. His dark old eyes sparkled with youthful excitement, because he had not been lazy, while his young Benedictine friend was down in the vaults of the Vatican, perusing old documents. While his body was old, weak and faltering, his brain was still a brilliant and powerful instrument. He, too had been through some papers!

„In the Book of Enoch I found something very interesting and it sounds pretty much similar to me: There had been a demon, Azazel or Asa'el. He had been instructed in the ways of high white magic while still in his human form. Then he'd undergone a strange change, because he lusted for power and he turned away from the Light. Asa'el swore allegiance to the 'Evil One' and styled himself into the leader of the so-called ‚Watchers', his followers, who would then educated humankind of heavenly secrets that lead to sin. These teachings of the 'Watchers' included making weapons of war and preparing ministrations and potions, which enabled a human being to seduce an angel. It is supposed that it was Asa'el -taking the form of a serpent - who even tempted Eve and caused the loss of Paradise! Well, to make a long and complicated story short, Yannick: After having lost a number of theirs to the mischievous ways of Asa'el, the angels charged him before the Lord with crimes of revealing the heavenly secrets which mankind was not supposed to know. The angel Raphael was then assigned to punish Asa'el by binding him hand and foot and throwing him into the darkness among the sharp and jagged rocks, where he would remain until the day of judgement when he would be hurled into the fire!" 

Father Le Floa'ch nodded. Indeed, old Cardinal Ratzinger's finding was not bad at all. That would be quite a piece of work to make Severus understand, what the Jesuit had explained to him. 

For one not versed in the bible it was rabble-babble nonsense! 

Yannick seriously doubted that Sev had a clue about the holy book and its multiple ways of interpretation, the hidden hints and codes. For him writing down the ways of the gods was a sacrilege that was punishable with dead; the druids transmitted knowledge on really important matters only orally and from one master to one specific pupil. This was the reason why it took so long to educate them and why they were so few. They had to learn everything by heart and retain an encyclopaedic amount of details in their mind. 

But Ratzinger's reference to Asa'el made good sense, it just needed a bit of translation: The demon they had to confront now was one that like ‚Asa'el' had started in a human body, then callenged the secrets of nature in a quest for immortality and finally - abandoning his human form - had risen through the Dark and confirmed this by employing a queer Satanist rite of ‚Blood-Flesh-Bones'. It could therefore be a solution to get rid of him, by throwing him back into the Dark with an adverse rite of ‚Blood-Flesh-Bones' and as the demon had a body that was tangible, they could manage to bind his physical appearance literally like Raphael had done with Asa'el and throw him back into a reverse potion, where he'd diminish again to that strange half-life form, Severus had described to him: almost void of his magic and nothing more then a nuisance........

„I think, this idea of yours is worth a try, Eminence...............although it will be quite a piece of work to explain it to ‚our allies'. „

Ratzinger stood up from his comfortable chair and walked over to the fireplace:"They consider Satanism a stupid half-science! I know that. They have even tendencies to persecute adepts in a rather harsh way……..But you told me, the young count is an alchemist ..................he should easily capture the scientific point, that there is a reverse mode for ‚Blood-Flesh-Bones', as for each and every other concoction!"

„Not an alchemist, a Poti.......!"

„Yannick, don't be a fool.......that's strictly the same thing, like raven black and black as a raven! They only refute this word in their community, because some non-magic dunce heads with good publicity have used the same word, while trying to fool some even more foolish lordlings and princes with promises of making gold from lead and other 'Hokus Pokus'. This impostor Caliostro in the XVIII. Century has done a lot of harm with his adventures and lavish book production!"

„If you say so, Eminence! I think, I should no longer keep you from getting yourself some sleep. I'll get myself a flight back to France as soon as I am through with the documents I still want to consult….. and then I will discuss with them. They have a ‚Gorseed' coming up in a week or so, perhaps I should........"

„.....go there and have a solid and most scientific exchange of views on that hairy subject! I'll keep my research librarians on it, too and I will contact you if ever we find more. You be careful, Yannick!"

Cardinal Ratzinger left his cosy place by the chimney and went over to the younger man to embrace him. 

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(1) The integration of Austria into Germany by 'peaceful' means under A.Hitler

(2) After Munich, the Czechs chose not to fight. In October 1938, Hitler marched into the Sudetenland unopposed. He declared: 'Thus we begin our march into the great German future . . .' Hitler ruled that other land in Czechoslovakia must be given to Hungary, and Poland took back Teschen by force. The rest of Czechoslovakia was split into three powerless statelets – Bohemia, Slovakia and Ruthenia.

In Germany, Nazi oppression was growing – 8 November (Kristallnacht) saw the start of persecution of the Jews. In Britain, it was clear that it was necessary to get ready for war. A National Register was set up in December 1938 stating what everyone would do in time of war, and in February 1939 Parliament started supplying air raid shelters to the people of London. 

In February, Franco finally won the Spanish Civil War. It seemed that the forces of fascism were winning everywhere. British MPs angrily shouted 'Heil Chamberlain' at the Prime Minister; a mood for war was growing in Britain. 

Then, in March 1939, Hitler took over the rest of Czechoslovakia. He bullied Bohemia into placing itself 'confidently' into his hands, then German troops marched into Prague and made Bohemia a German protectorate. He took over Slovakia a week later. Chamberlain recalled the British ambassador from Berlin, and promised that if Hitler attacked Poland, Britain and France would give Poland 'all support in their power'. In April, Italy conquered Albania, so Chamberlain made the same promise to Greece and Romania. 

Europe started to get ready for war. Parliament passed the Civil Defence Act (plans to evacuate children from London), tripled spending on the defence budget, and introduced conscription. Later that month, Mussolini and Hitler signed the Pact of Steel, promising to support each other if there was a war. 

Russia, also, was getting worried. In April 1939, the USSR asked Britain and France to form an alliance against Germany. But the British made a mess of the negotiations and, on 23 August 1939, Russia made instead an alliance with Hitler. In a secret clause they agreed to attack and split Poland between them.

At the end of August 1939, Hitler sent 2000 Nazis to Danzig. The Germans in Danzig rioted and demanded union with Germany. Hitler threatened war and demanded the Polish corridor. It was a familiar pattern. This time, Britain did not appease Hitler, so, on 1 September 1939, Hitler invaded Poland. 

On 3 September 1939, Britain declared war on Germany.


	20. The Rose and the Unicorn

Chapter 20  The Rose and the Unicorn

The formal diner was followed by coffee and desert in the Medieval Garden and the  elder children of Snape's clan  were  allowed to follow the grown ups under condition of good behaviour. Geneviève had starred for a while on  Harry and Morigan, before she'd muttered a "Ok, you may go!", to the two of them. Although Harry had been first wondering about Severus disappearing from high table and the side of his 'girl friend' in  the middle of a stiff and formal occasion, the  fact that Morigan did not even react to it, made him rein  in his curiosity. Now, that they were permitted downstairs and not sent cruelly  to bed and rest like the other  youngsters, he'd already forgotten the empty place. He gave his 'lady-love' a cute little wink with the eye and then held out his arm to her the same way he'd seen Dumbledore do it with Snape's  mother earlier that evening. Morigan replied with a dazzling smile, showing her small white teeth. She  strode by his side like a  queen and  Harry felt suddenly terribly proud of his conquest. In the  Medieval Garden, the  forthcoming house-elves had prepared a long table covered with a very beautiful salmon-coloured cloth. There were tiny porcelain plates with 'petit  fours'[1], mostly covered with pastel-colour sugar toppings and marzipan fruit. Then you could take a cup of  either tea, coffee or hot chocolate.  They had heating charms, to prevent tea  and coffee pots spoiling the artful aspect of the buffet. Small iron wrought round tables, each with four chairs to it and a candle drifting in the air in the middle were dispatched between the rose bushes and squares  of  white flower. The night was warm and a soft moon shone over the fortress and the valley of Brocéliande. 

Morigan and Harry chose their cake and decided  for coffee instead  of chocolate. Then they went to a  table close to a beautiful rose bush, a bit further away from the nightly action of socialising and chatting. For a moment, they sat silent, eating their 'petit four' and  sipping their coffee. 

" Will you come  back for  Christmas, 'Arry?", Morigan asked the boy softly. 

"  I do not know?", there was a hint of sadness in Potter's  eyes. 

He had come this summer, because Snape had brought him to the fortress. His  Potions Master had not said anything else. Perhaps it was just some one time shot. And anyhow, he'd never  gone somewhere for Christmas, since he was at Hogwarts. He'd always  stayed in the castle, because the Dursley's did not want him in their home. They did not want him in summer either, but as the school  closed down and  nobody was allowed to stay, he had had to go for the last three holidays to his misery and Privet Drive. Harry wondered what Christmas at the fortress would be. Thinking back, he'd never seen much of Snape himself during the winter holidays. Habitually he was present for the Yule feast, the day before the Hogwarts Express would leave with the lucky ones who had families expecting them back home, but afterwards……..

The girl gave him a gentle smile and took his hand in hers:" If you show him that you'd  like to come, he'll take you to Montmuran! And I would love to have you here, also. I think all of us would be happy, if you'd be back for the Winter Term Holiday."

Harry lifted Morigan's  hands to his lips and brushed a kiss over her soft, bronzed skin. She smelled so good, Lavender and Rose. He put her small hands against his cheek and sighted.

"I will try to let him know. It is strange! First, when the Headmaster told me that I had to go with your uncle, I was mad at Dumbledore and imagined the worst…….and I even wished to go back to the Dursley's and two horrible months at Privet Drive, with my dreadful cousin Dudley and Aunt Petunia  and  Uncle  Vernon. It seemed even better to be, to be half-starved and looked up in my room then even try and go with him………………..Since I started at Hogwarts, he's always frightened hell out of me and I, in exchange hated him!"

"You  still hate  him?", Morigan asked softly. It would be interesting to test, if Harry was clever enough to not judge a book by its cover. Well, she had the  advantage of knowing her uncle since she was born and under other circumstances then a school potions lab with exploding cauldrons and unwilling or unfit students. The Beaubaxton Potions Master wasn't a piece of cake either. He spent most of his time  dealing out detentions and other punitive measures, just to keep them out of hospital. Potions was a dangerous subject! Her mother, on  the Beaubaxton Council  of  Administration, had been pleading  for the subject eradicated from the curriculum  until fifth year for simple security reasons! And  the Dukes of Brittany had quite an idea  when  it came to cauldrons and potions………………. 

Harry gave another sigh:"I think, honestly, I never really hated him! I simply do not figure him out and that makes me…………..nervous! And at school I have always the feeling that he's on my back, trying to find something to give me a good trashing, take away house points or deal me out a nasty detention…………………."

"Is it so important to figure someone out, who's just there to teach you a  subject and beat some discipline and work  ethics into your head? As to me, I take the teachers for what they are: You have to get along with them for a couple of years and then you graduate and continue  your life.  If I see one of them four hours  a week in  a classroom and twenty minutes a day in the recreation court or school restaurant, I do not even invest time and energy into  figuring him out. Anyhow, they do their job and we  do ours…….."

Harry blushed a  little bit. At Hogwarts  they saw  more  of the professors, because they stayed there through the term and they had them on their backs in the evenings and during the week ends to some extent. Nevertheless, it  was true that they never ever saw anything private of them. When Harry was thinking it over; he did not know if any of them had a family  or kids, he  would not be able to say what they spent their evenings with or how they enjoyed their weekends. He had no clue what any of them planned, when Hogwarts closed for two months in summer and during winter holidays he had the feeling, that some of them were just obliged to stay to survey left-overs with no place to go.

Dumbledore had been observing Harry and Morigan from a distance. His blue eyes twinkled  with delight, when he saw the two youngsters exchanging shy little marks of affection and caring for one another. It did young Potter obviously good to be far away from Hogwarts and the pressure to be "The Boy who Lived". It did him also good to be in a working family environment with normal behavioural patterns; there was no need to stick together with Miss Granger and Mister Weasley for the whole day and most of the night, trying to find outlets for  energies they could  not spend on studying and classes. From what Severus had told him, the youngster even managed to  respect some basic rules of the game, such as not sticking his nose in each and every business! Albus doubted, that with his two over-curious Hogwarts friends present, Potter would have been so well-educated and normal. He decided to pay the cute little couple under the floating candle a  little visit. 

"Good evening to you!",  the Headmaster mockingly bowed to Morigan and then to Harry."May I take a seat and disturb your privacy?"

"Please, Professor Dumbledore!" Harry replied with a grin. He had taken a very brave decision not to ask, why the Headmaster was at Montmuran.

"So how holidays are  going?", the old wizard asked the two youngsters. 

Harry beamed:» The best holidays of my life,  Professor  Dumbledore!" Then he added with a little blush on his cheeks and fixing the ground,» Thank you that you made me go!"

Dumbledore nodded knowingly:» And what about the advice I gave you?" He had given Harry a hint concerning Snape. He had to ensure that the kid with his tendency to reckless adventures  and quizzing  would  stay  from now  on out of Severus ways. With Voldemort back, the young man would re-enter –had  already re-entered- a highly dangerous game. Harry and his two little friends had already managed in their first year at Hogwarts to get into Severus' ways at the least opportune moments:  And then it had 'only' been the Philosopher's Stone of Flamel in the dungeons  and  a highly suspicious Professor Quirrel on  the staff……..with a  little Voldemort added to his head! Now they had Voldemort back and kicking, a House of Slytherin full of students with parents that were either declared  followers of the 'Dark One' or even Death Eaters in power. The Headmaster suspected that some of  the sixth and seventh years in Snape's house  were also drifting away and becoming themselves  potentially dangerous…………. He had chosen to allow Severus to take the kid finally with him, because he hoped that Harry would realize by himself that at Hogwarts he had to leave the Potions Master alone to his dangerous game. Dumbledore hoped, that the kid simply understood without words that there was neither black nor white, but only grey!

" We have been to the seaside," Harry continued. He gave Morigan a little wink, before he continued to relate that superb trip they had had to the Island of Bréhat  with catching green crabes and collecting cockles and musles and swimming in the dark green Atlantic…………….

Notwithstanding his half conscious state, Severus had managed to apparate with some precision back to Montmuran. He let himself simply slip  to the ground to rest for a little while  against a cool wall of granite blocks. His eyes  were so unfocused that he could not make out, where in the castle he had arrived. The large, light grey stone squares were constantly changing shapes and the soft light somewhere  up under the vault made his eyes hurt and confused him even more. He knew that if now, he'd give  in  to that envy to close his eyes and rest his head against the stone, he'd black out and this was not a good idea  at all, considering the fact, that the granite squares could belong to a dungeon or another abandoned piece of the fortress. Slowly he managed to lift his  right hand high enough to pull his wand from his left sleeve. His  left  side with the broken collarbone was  by now so numb that he did not feel anything anymore and it was good so. 

When he had been in the "Commando Marine" they had often been pushed over the limits of what their bodies under normal circumstances could endure. It  was a normal training method with elite soldiers: They had to go beyond the limits of pain for reasons of physical  survival. 

A man who was exhausted to death had still a reserve of despair that would bring him through a desperate  situation.  This thing became  in the end so engrained in most of these soldiers that they simply  reacted the right way without thinking. Severus had  made no difference. He had absorbed the same conditioning all the others had absorbed in the "Commando Marine" and this conditioning stayed on, beyond active service and beyond the wearing of a uniform. 

Already during the first war  against Voldemort he had mainly survived due to this conditioning bundled with a very strong will of his own.  When the aurors  had tried Veritas Spells on him, it had not been magic that had made him resist! It had been simple muggle drill for Special Forces that existed only in order to work with intelligence people, infiltrated into enemy territory and most of the time left to their own survival instincts, when on mission. The golden rule that had be beaten into Snape had been: "If you want to live, never ever cooperate in  an interrogation when taken by the enemy! A man who speaks and gives information is a dead man."

"Directio", Severus had  hardly enough breath in his lungs to manage his spell. 

Fortunately his wand was nervy and temperamental – 14 inches rosewood with a single hair from the eldest unicorn stallion in the Brocéliande Forest  as its core and  engraved with powerful runes – a unique wand!  

He had received this piece as his birth gift from the 'Old One', during the night of Beltaine when Geneviève had  delivered him. The wand had been in his cradle. It had been the proof that Merlin had accepted him as an heir to the Power. Two other men had  owned this wand  before him. Their  bodies were long since buried  under "La Roche aux Fées"[2] . Their souls had whispered  knowledge of old  into his ears, when he'd been an apprentice at Avalon. 

Severus had the strange sensation that his wand dragged him off the ground and then someway from the huge granite squares to more homely places. He did not know where he was, when his wand suddenly let him go. The last thing he felt was warmth, security and a familiar heartbeat.

  


* * *

[1] Small artful cake

[2] Some 30 km south of Renne (near the village of Essé), La Roche-Aux-Fées is by far the most impressive "Dolmen" of Brittany. It was built some 4500 years ago, at the end of the neolithic period. Such monuments were probably used for funeral rites and/or wider religious purpose.  
  
The Dolmen is built of purple-colored schist whose nearest outcrop is located in the Forêt du Theil, a wood 5 km away. Most of these pieces of stone weight over 40 tons.


	21. Turning Pages

Chapter 21 Turning Pages

  
  


Myriam's eyes questioned Geneviève.

  
  


„Stay, dear! It will be easier for him when he recovers his senses and feels he is not alone….. ", the elder woman said gently. She understood exactly what kind of feelings existed between Myriam and Severus for so long now. Sometimes she thought, that she knew perhaps even better then the two themselves. 

  
  


Geneviève motionned her husband and Albus Dumbledore out of Severus' rooms in the Northern Tower of Montmuran. She felt exhausted and drained but nevertheless relieved. The broken collarbone was neatly fixed. He'd be numb and stiff for a day or two, but there shouldn't be any more pain. The old scars on his back had been more of a problem. It had taken her some time to figure out what the Dark One had done to create this bloody mess that would not allow itself to be mended with even the strongest healing spell. He had used his wand like a knife! And with the wand that had tortured and killed so much, Voldemort had employed a tool full of poison and dark magic. 

But Snape's mother was not only a Healer and an accomplished Potions Mistress. She was also a gifted Herbologist: Symphytium officinale was powerful remedy if one knew how to use the plant. It was a notorious double edged sword - as all members of the Boraginaceae family, but if the roots and leaves were correctly distiled into a tincture, they did not only inhibit the infection of a wound, they also stimulated the natural healing process spectacularly and relieved pain. He'd have to endure a bandaged back for some few days only...

„Let him in peace now, will you!", Geneviève ordered Dumbledore and her husband with a cutting voice that did not tolerate the slightest contradiction, when she realized that both men - yearning for information from Severus first direct encounter with Voldemort after thirteen years - hesitated. Then she closed the door firmly shut and left the rest to Myriam's discretion. 

Considering the fact that her son was strong and physically fit, Geneviève knew that he'd be back on his feet within 24 hours at longest. She was nevertheless conscious that more often then not the memories of pain were the real handicap for speedy recovery. When Severus had returned from the first war with Voldemort, it had taken her hardly a months to come to an end with his festering wounds, the cracked ribs, a sever pneumonia, malnutrition and all the other physical signs of brutal interogators and detention methods close to Medieval standards. But none of her crafty potions, powerful prayers and currative herbs had been able to eradicate the aftereffects from inumberable Cruciatus Curses maintained on him for too long. Cruciatus Curses did not show up on ones body, they scared ones soul! And Severus stubborn refusal to talk about the dungeons of the Ministry and the death row of Askaban had made things worse then. Myriam had tonight perhaps a better chance then anybody else, to make Severus let go his memories and turn the page! 

  
  


„I need a minimum of three fingers of something terribly strong and alcoholic now!", she made Aurelian and Albus, who were both dead silent advance towards the central wing of the fortress and away from Severus' tower. 

  
  


Geneviève, the healer and Potions Mistress, completely detached from her emotions of being a mother in that very special case of Severus, whom she'd rather entrusted to the care of a colleague if there had not been dire emergency, only to protect herself from seeing her child suffer, was intrigued by how shocked those two grown up males, both with tough war experience had been, when it had come to face this very reality of reopened hostilities with Voldemort, the monster of their past. 

  
  


Albus himself and Alastor Moody - Mad-Eyed Moody- had sent Severus easy handed and in cold blood to receive the Dark Mark burned into his flesh fifteen years ago. There had been no choice, but to take a complete outsider with a totally different background and training to infiltrate the ranks of Voldemort. 

All others who'd ever given a try to approach the Dark Lord had not even survived a forthnight after having been accepted into his ranks. Most of them had died terrible deaths, some had simply disappeared from the surface of the world, never to reappear again. 

Severus with his down to earth approach, a absolutely non-magic elite soldier's training and his apprehension forged under the command of dear Claude Fillon, that to save many sometimes it is necessary to kill a few, had kept his cover for two long years. 

And when the remainders of Voldemort's rank and file had started to stir again and spread mayhew three years after the Dark Lord's fall, Albus and Alastor had naturally turned back to her son with his experience and untarnished 'reputation' as a dark wizard to reintegrate their ranks. They had had strange feelings that all was not over and that problems would soon begin again. 

  
  


Sev had accepted only half-heartedly to re-enter the game, but their own French Ministry of Magic and Patrick Delacour de Saint Germain pushed him, not to spoil his talents on non-magic intelligence work in the non-magic „Service Action"(1)of the non-magic DGSE just because he enjoyed poking his magic nose in the profane non-magic science of bio-chemistry. And Merlin himself had had a word with her son! When Dumbledore finally dealt in one of the very best Potions Labs in Europe including the Hogwarts Collection of Alchemy Treaties which was second only to the Prague Collection at the Hradçin, Severus had finally given in. 

The predicted big troubles with the Dark Side started almost instantaneously, when young Harry Potter left his miserable childhood and his muggle relatives for a first school term at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. Unfortunatelly, the boy started the same year, Lucius Malfoy's viscious brood had come to that place, making Severus' life even more difficult, because now he was under constant and direct observation by one of the worst dark wizards the British Isles ever had produced. 

And contrary to many other dark ones, Malfoy senior was cunning, highly intelligent and elusive to the point of having made most normal and honorable magic folks forget his gory past and loyalties. 

  
  


When Albus Dumbledore had asked Severus only five weeks ago - in cold blood and fully calculating his bet- to return with the Death Eaters and actively reintegrate the services of the Dark Lord, he had been fully aware that this step would mean either death or suffering and physical harm for the young one. But these clear and present dangers had been abstract notions, at best ........for Albus and Moody! They were thinking ........in terms of .......strategy! 

Genevieve gave a small sigh and shook her head. The mother deep inside was very angry with Dumbledore who played a dangerous and wicked game of chess against Voldemort. Even deeper inside she was furious with Aurelian, her own husband, who had given Severus all these damned traits of character that made him so terribly efficient in that game of survival that was war! And last, but not least she fumed against Sev himself......Geneviève called a house elf and asked for a bottle of Calvados(2) and three glasses………….She'd need more then three fingers of that beverage tonight, not to shout at these foolish males and their foolish hero playing!

  
  
  
  


Myriam looked down for a while on Severus. His breathing was by now more regular and firmer. The blood had been washed off, the ugly wounds on his back were mercifully hidden under clean white bandages. Genevieve had administered a solid potion to help him recover from this night' dreadful trial. He was still pale, but it was not this ashen colour of a walking corpse. She pulled off her dark blue silken night gown and slipped under the sheets. 

Carefully, not to wake him, she moved her body close to his. Her arms cuddled around his lean, muscular frame, holding him as tigh and firm as she could. With great relief she registered his unconscious reaction to the warmth of her touch: He turned around and buried his face against her shoulder, his hands found their way down to her slender waist. His tense muscles relaxed more and more and the trembling -aftereffect of repeated Cruciatus Curses maintained for to long - ebbed down. 

  
  


She dug her face into his raven black hair and closed her eyes.She had been terrified when he had crumbled into her arms in the dark. She had been in the Medieval Garden until long after midnight. Sitting by herself with a cup of tea, trying to banish the fear from her mind. When Severus had suddenly left the diner table without saying a word of excuse or explanation, she had felt almost physically that his Dark Mark was burning. Voldemort was summoning his Death Eaters!

  
  


Myriam felt a slight caress over her back. Gently she was pulled closer. She had the impression that Severus was slowly returning to the world of the living, not fully conscious but no longer totally numbed and drowned in pain. She slipped a soft kiss on his forehead, then she worked her way slowly down to his lips. Although it was pitch dark in the bedroom and she could not see, she felt that he'd opened his eyes. She felt them on her skin and they were warm and loving. 

  
  


He returned Myriams kiss very gently, telling her in a language without words, that he desired to bring her even closer, that he trusted her so much that he was willing to give himself up to her, even in his present half-conscious and vulnerable state. 

  
  


Severus could have told her these things, but his heart commanded, that words were but volatile and void. Under the present circumstances and knowing that the final battle with Voldemort had just begun and that its outcome was more then uncertain, he would never ever dare to say certain things. He understood that his own future was unclear and hidden in the mist. Although he had inherited powers to see, he was unable to see for himself and as Myriam had been to closely linked to him for too long, he could not see for her either. 

  
  


His refusal to speak of love was the strongest magic he had to protect her from what may come. It was even stronger then a Fidelius Charm. He had to be sure that she was far away and unattainable for the monster that was the Dark One. Knowing her close to the eternal rings of stone, the wards of Montmuran and the protective forests of Brocéliande allowed him to do what he had to do without risking any unforgivable mistake.............His hand caressed her small, firm breasts, then it moved down to her flat belly. 

She shivered slightly and opened her tighs just enough to allow him in. 

  
  


Her body trembled and she let his lips go, digging her face back into his long silky raven hair. Silent tears of relief made their way down Myriam's cheeks. All she felt were trust and affection and his desire to please her. There was not even a hint of dispair or attemt to take just a moment of comfort. He knew exactly what he was doing and what he wanted her to understand. Myriam allowed herself to let completely go now, to abandon herself and to simply accept this trust of his. She was no longer frightened of his reaction, if she'd dare to touch these wounds of another war that had been freshly reopened, because she realized that this time he had not broken to pieces. He simply turned the page and continued with his life.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


1. The military component of the French DGSE -Direction Générale dela Sécurité Exterieur (MI 6 equivalent); these soldiers are not only employed in so-called ‚dirty jobs' in the field of human intelligence.Some of them have very solid scientific background in high-tech fields like information technologies, bio-chemistry or nuclear physics. 

2. 2A very strong alcoholic beverage from apples, habitually aged in an oak casket. Homegrown brands on farms in Normandy and Brittany can touch the 70% mark. 


	22. The Mysteries of Lugnasadh

Chapter 22

  
  


Harry was fairly sure that none of them would wonder, if they did not run for breakfast as early as usual; the socialising in the Medieval Garden, following the diner to honour Dumbledore's arrival had ended late and as it had been a fine night, they had had a walk with Morigan down to the stables and then into the forest. 

  
  


He must have brought the girl back to her room at around two o'clock in the morning. Harry smiled: He could still smell the Lavender and Rose scent and feel her soft lips on his. It had been the first time he'd kissed - really kissed - a girl and the kiss had left him elated, shaky and a little bit disturbed. 

  
  


Not that he did not know about those things; he'd heard elder students talk of it, mostly in a whisper and with a flush on their cheeks or ......a triumphant grin. But he could not imagine what it would be........

When he'd held Morigan close, kissing her gently on her mouth, she'd for a short moment slipped her tongue between his lips. He'd returned her attention the same way instinctively and so they had stood there in front of her room for a while, holding each other, lips locked together, exploring and testing. 

Suddenly - also from instinct - his hands had started to caress first the girls face, then they'd slipped down, lower to her shoulders, her breasts, her waist. Morigan had moaned with delight. After a while the two of them had let go, too shaky to continue outside in the dark corridor with all the magic paintings observing them. Most of the paintings threw them cute little smiles or knowing glances. It had been so embarassing even with his dark formal velvet robes hiding most of his lively reaction to his ‚lady-love's' physical closeness! 

  
  


Finally Morigan had pushed open the door to her room and taken his hand to lead him in. It had been for a while, that he had this strange feeling, she knew more about certain things then he did. And indeed, Harry had not been wrong! 

  
  


Now the sun was shining brightly through a hugh window with cream coloured drapings decorated with roses and made her sleeping face by his side look even more beautiful then it had been in the simmering soft light of the one candle she'd lit the night before with a wish of her wand. Harry realized, that his arm rested under her shoulders and she was contently nuzzled against his body........his unclad, naked body with that soft growth of black hair on the chest and on his chin, muscles starting to define themselves, shoulders broadening from child to young man and voice having gone down already to ..........lower, deeper. 

  
  


He caressed her rose cheek gently with his free left hand. So that was it! He'd have his birthday tomorrow anyhow. The 1st of August lay no more then twentyfour hours away. 

  
  


Morigan had wispered into his ear, that it was time now that they knew these things with Lughnasadh at the doorstep. Indeed.........he'd remembered that one: Lughnasadh was important for the Celtic people, because it was the day they habitually concluded marriage or proposed to a chosen person to be their intimate partner. He could not help, but with that cute little witch cuddled in his arm so contently after ............ well, after having made love to her twice during the remaining hours of the night.........he felt different! No longer a boy, a child........not a man so.........but different. And he liked it. He liked the idea to care for someone, not as he'd care for a friend like Ron or Hermione, but........really care! With his heart. 

  
  


She'd known more about the whole issue then he, at the beginning of their joint venture, nevertheless he'd realized that it had been the first time she would go through with it with all lasting consequences. Instinctively he'd been careful not to hurt, when he'd felt that small resistance, although she'd been shivering and trembling with delight at his entry.

  
  


Harry slipped a gentle kiss on that baby-eagles beak that was so obviously a family trademark with Snape's clan and gave a deep, relaxed sigh. Morigan opened her eyes and smiled at him. Her pitch black eyes beamed, when her slender long-fingered and suntanned hand started a journey to travel slowly from his chest down to his belly and down.........

„Encore!", she wispered into his ear, „Encore, s'il te plaît!" She wanted him to love her again!

„They'll kill us!", he replied in the same whisper and with a sparkle in his eyes, letting his hand slip from the girls face down to her slender waist and then to the lower part of her back.

„None will kill us, because they have all pretty good eyes and are neither blind nor dumb.........and anyhow, we are old enough to do this if it pleases us! It is none of their business, but belongs to you and me alone...." 

  
  


Harry could only agree with her logical analysis concerning the clan's visual capacities and common sense. 

When Morigan had tended him -with a sly grin - a small phial during last night, he had had no problems to decypher what had been written on the parchement sticker in a terribly familiar handwriting. Not even in his slightly shaky mindset! 

He doubted that Beaubaxton students learned to brew contraceptive potions that did not wear off for 48 hours already in their fourth year. He had read somewhere that such stuff was tricky to brew.......which could only mean that his ‚lady-love' had requested the phial from some competent source sworn to confidentiality. And as his head was still on his shoulders and not boiling in some cauldron in a damp, icy dungeon, the creator of the phial's content probably did not mind their joint efforts to understand more about the secrets of life and growing up into young adults! Harry had already given up to figure that one out. He could rest in peace a secret inside a mystery inside a cloud! Understanding him was as hopeless an enterprise as re-creating the ‚Philosopher's Stone'!

  
  


Morigan took Harry's free hand to wake him from his thoughts and led it to a place where she believed it would be of better use then on a pillow.

  
  


He could but agree with her choice, nuzzling her small firm breast gently and with delight. Her skin was warm and soft, suntanned from being out in the open air the whole day and still smelling Rose and Lavender. When he daringly placed his lips over her tiny, erect nipple Morigan gave a satisfied moan. She felt that her own caresses, too had produced the desired effect. After another soft kiss she hissed herself onto her most willing victim, relishing in the bright sunshine on his face and his delighted green eyes that beamed at her. Perhaps they would feel like having lunch or some afternoon snack after another ‚Encore!' or two, but breakfast was not an attractive idea at all, when one could spend time much more pleasantly then with a profane cup of ‚café au lait' and croissants with raspberry jam. 

  
  
  
  


Albus Dumbledore sat with Aurelian Rogue de la Bédoyere de Villeon and Duke of Brittany under a giant, snow white Mangolia tree. It was full of heavy flowers and sent a strong, sweet smell down to the small ironwrought table where the two old friends prolongated their breakfeast with a nice glass of icecold ‚grim'(1). The fact that it was already 11 o'clock fully justified the choice of the beverage. Last night both men had been in a gloomy, somewhat distresed mood after Severus having returned from his meeting with the Dark One. Their own memories of war laid far away; it was almost exactly fifty years since they'd been themselves in the frontline. It had been kind of a shook to be confronted anew and at close distance with pain. The fact, that Severus had born it so stoically and matter-of-factly as ‚part of his job' had not made them feel better. Quite the contrary! They felt both guilty: Albus, because he had sent him out again to fight and Aurelian, because he had not been able to make him decline.

  
  


„You know, Albus," the old general said with a thoughtful expression in his steel blue eyes,"I have tried to talk him out of it because he's my son. It would have been someone else, I would not have given it a second thought and encouraged him to go and do what he had to do in order to get a hold on this monstrous creature Voldemort!" Aurelian felt, that it was only fair play to let Dumbledore know this.

  
  


The Headmaster of Hogwarts shrugged his shoulders. What more natural and human, then a father unwilling to expose his child to danger, sorrow and pain. He would have been surprised if Aurelian - his old friend Aurelian- would have encouraged Severus to re-enter the game again, after what had happened during the first fall of Voldemort. 

It had been an enormous strain on their decades old friendship, when Albus had allowed Severus to be dragged down into the dungeons of the British Ministry of Magic and then to Askaban. 

Aurelian the former general, an officer who had commanded men in times of war and had been able to sent them forth to be killed and maimed could rationalize that this action of Dumbledore and Alastor Moody had been absolutely necessary in order to not destroy a cover that had been so carefully and skillfully built. But Aurelian as a father would never be able to accept this need. 

  
  


Dumbledore had known the very day he'd put a 16-years old French exchange student with a rare and complicated education single-handedly into Slytherin House that he'd probably risk a very deep friendship with this action. Severus had come to Hogwarts with Voldemort strengthening in power and becoming more and more a danger for magic and non-magic folks alike. He had already started to bait non-magic folks and kill some of them. He was also engaged in assembling followers and wizards with either interesting skills or an interesting potential for the future. 

  
  


The kids in Slytherin House were all offsprings of old pureblood families, most of them attached to the darker arts and sympathisers of Voldemort's anti-muggle doctrine and preachings of purity. These youngsters reported home to their parents and the parents who were already openly in league with Voldemort informed their master about promising and ambitious young ones that could be perverted by promises of power. 

  
  


Knowing all this only too well, Dumbledore had decided to throw his bait into the House of the Serpent: From the outside Severus fitted perfectly in; gifted in the dark arts with knowledge and power far beyond his age. When it came to Potions he was already worth more then some lesser Potions Masters tripple his age and the young one, due to his ‚curious' upbringing and scolarity -so to say- behaved with such a solemn maturity that no normal young adult could figure him out for what he really was inside. 

None of them was able to imagine that Severus had only a notion of magic, because in his world line between white and black magic had never been drawn. 

Avalon thaught them to keep both in equilibrium, employing what was most useful in a particular situation. A Druid attacked by an enemy or a dangerous beast cast ‚Aveda Kedavra' without second thought. It was not an ‚Unforgivable Curse', just self defence at its most efficient and effective!

  
  


Although none of the Slytherins ever warmed up to Severus during his two years at Hogwarts, he nevertheless caught the eye of one seventh year: Albus then already knew, he was a man of Voldemort, wearing the Dark Mark on his left forearm : Lucius Malfoy, son of Valerius Malfoy Front-de-Boeuf and Earl of Carthmarten. 

  
  


They'd come in the days of William the Conqueror from the Celtic lands of Normandy over to the British Isles. The families origines lay, where those of the conqueror's father Rollo had lain, in the Nordic lands of Skandinavia. 

  
  


The Malfoy Front-de-Boeuf who had landed together with William was next to the conqueror's half-brother Bisoph Odon of Bayeux his most prominent advisor and councilor. When Odon's religion could not help, William would turn to the terrible Norse gods, his mage Malfoy Front-de-Boeuf and the Dark Arts. 

  
  


Each and every time Lucius Malfoy made an attempt to close down on Severus, the young one had an instinctive reflex to retreat, which meant with that complicated child, that he would put up his self defence wards agains one he felt was evil. But what came over to Malfoy was a constant aura of menace and hardly contained violence, which made him think there stood a promising recruit for Voldemort, who was only a bit shy. 

  
  


After the frustration at Hogwarts with Severus it had been an easy thing, three years later to lure Lucius into thinking that the young one had just needed time to overcome his shyness. Malfoy had not hesitated a second to bring Severus in front of his master, caution him as powerful, violent and dark and have him admit into the cercle of followers. And Severus sense of drama and roleplay had made Malfoy believe, he'd found a friend and a true, equal partner in crime! 

  
  
  
  


Dumbledore gave another sigh and poured himself another ‚grim', before he laid his hand gently on Aurelians arm: Friendship was to weak a word for their relation; they were almost brothers, each having saved the life of the other during the dark, terrible days of the reign of Grindlewald and his Austrian puppet turned dictator of Germany. Not once, not twice...........again and again! 

  
  


Albus had then played a role similar to the role Severus was playing today; he'd been a spy once, a man working under cover, infiltrating the dark and lying and acting in order to survive and to mystify the enemy. 

Aurelian had been with those few that had followed a certain Leclerc de Hautecloque after the defeat of France and the instauration of the miserable Vichy government, that had been willing to collaborate with the enemy and enter in his criminal games in order to survive and keep a factice of power. 

Until a certain Général Charles de Gaulle had propagated a certain speech via the BBC radio into the occupied territories that once have been his homelands, they'd been so few, fighting alongside the British in Africa against a genius who was not agreeing with his dictator but too much of a man of honour to betray his country. 

The puppet had Fieldmarshall Rommel killed.......by his own hand, pushed into suicide the very moment when his Atlantic Fortress underwent the last and decisive shook of the Light, a 6th of June on the shores of Normandy. 

  
  


„It would be a lie if I tell you that I am sorry it is your son who is in the game, Aurelian." Dumbledore smiled, „ You know, I have trusted you with my life so often, I trust your son the same way. That's because I see you in those adventurous and dangerous days, when we two had been fighting side by side, never forsaking the other, even at the risk of our own life. When I look at him I look at you...................no matter what happens or what he does, the Dark One will never be able to turn him. It is good to know, that there is at least one person you may entrust with surveilling your back in moments of need." He paused for a short instant,"......and even more so, since I had intelligence, that our British Ministry of Magic is probably rotten at the top!"

  
  


„It is rotten at the top!", a soft voice interrupted Dumbledore and the Duke of Brittany in their intimate conversation. They had not realized that someone was listening to them for a while already.

  
  


„He has been there yesterday night, a member of Voldemorts inner cercle, a Death Eater with the Dark Mark burned into his flesh, a devote piece of shit that kisses the robe of the monster and bends his knee!" 

  
  


Severus had spat these words with a voice full of hatred. He stood tall in front of the two elder men, his tenure did not betray for even an instant what he had been through only a couple of hours ago. If it would not have been for the dark rings under his eyes and his drawn, pale face, it would have been easy to pretend that nothing had happened at all.

  
  


„If you wish so, I am ready to tell you what I have learned. I had an occasion to enter his mind for a while and what I found inside that piece of shit was most instructing .......!", the soft, deep voice dripped with sarcasm. Severus leaned his tall frame against the trunk of the Magnolia tree and waited for Dumbledore's first question.

1. A mix of Calvados-apple alcohol- and pea wine. A speciality of Normandy and Brittany, habitually only found in those places as it is not fit for export, due to a need for lengthy, costly preparation and use of high quality oak porto caskets, which have become rare sinc ethe invention of cheaper stainless steel recipices for alcohol making and storage. 


	23. The Terror of Doubt

Chapter 23 The Terror of Doubt

Lucius Malfoy had spent the whole night following the Death Eaters meeting alone in his library. By four o'clock in the morning, he had drowned almost entirely a bottle of 25 years old Laphroigh and a comfortable numbness started finally to invade his body from head to toe. 

It had been fortunate that Narcissa and Draco where off on a culture trip to Milan in Italy. Better have the two spend a nice evening at the Opera and share an intimate mother-son diner in some fancy restaurant then seeing him laying here like a drunk old wreck, clothes in disorder and shivering.

Lucius asked himself seriously why on earth he'd followed that first call of the Dark Lord so eagerly. The long years of Voldemort's demise and exile in the Albanian backwoods had been peaceful years for him: He'd bullied some muggles and mudbloods and from time to time that muggle lover Albus Dumbledore for his own personal fun. He'd married a wonderful woman whose brains and wits where his daily joy, they'd been blessed with a healthy, beautiful and intelligent son, who was deeply attached to his parents, his family and their traditions, they were rich beyond the imaginable and he welded power and influence in the Wizarding World. Life had been good to them!

Lucius Malfoy Front-de-Boeuf, Earl of Carthmarten pulled a weary trembling hand through his long silver blond hair and gave a deep moan of despair. The soft burgundy red velvet pillows tastefully chosen by Narcissa to match his favourite reading couch in his library were of no comfort tonight. The sizzling fire that filled the piece with cosy warmth could not drag the chill from his bones. He did not even dare to think of sleep - alone in the dark in that large bed with the green silk sheets and draping that harboured so many happy memories of their life, without his Narcissa's comforting presence and understanding smile...........

All that was left tonight was a bottle: He poured himself another glass of whiskey and downed it in one swift move. 

He was still trembling, when he thought about that meeting: Not that he'd come in harms way! Quite the contrary had been the case. But Lucius suddenly realised that now at forty years of age, a family man and devoted to his wife and unique child, he simply could not stomach any longer, what he'd stomached in his wild youth before Narcissa and Draco had entered the scene. 

He'd only stared at Voldemort, pointing his wand at Severus. 

What for? Because a man had been unable to get out of a castle protected with powerful Disparating- and Apparating Wards, while right under the nose of that old fool Dumbledore and half the Ministry of Magic's top brass with a unique event -the Triwizzard Tournament - ongoing and assigned to stand guard over the competing students close to a labyrinth full of sphinxes, blast-ended screwts, boggarts and other dangers? 

„Damn it!", Malfoy babbled, his hand reaching out for another sip from the comforting gold brown liquid in his crystal class, „Severus had had his share at Askaban and in the dungeons of the Ministry of Magic from that bunch of aurors that weld the Unforgivables with the same ease and detachment as the worst of us Death Eaters!"

What use to torture a man for the simple fact, that he'd not been willing to betray the master he'd sworn allegiance to and from whom he'd received the Dark Mark burnt into his flesh?

Lucius himself - thirteen years ago at age twenty-seven - had opted to pretend to have been under ,Imperius Curse' and therefore unable to resist the commands of the Dark Lord. He'd lied his ass out of the mess when this Potter-boy had dispatched his Master on Halloween Night of 1981? Severus - five years his junior - had simply kept his silence!

Lucius Malfoy wondered what he would have done, if he'd been in Severus' place this night. Probably let go much, much earlier. He'd never understood how his friend could be so ......stoic. Yes, stoic was the right word, stoic and detached! 

„I would have asked for mercy," Lucius thought, because he had so much to lose. Begged for forgiveness and sworn to do what ever the Dark One commanded, only in order to get back to Narcissa and Draco other then a bloodied walking mess? 

Well, Severus had neither wife nor child and his heart, soul and feelings had gone long ago in Askaban..........perhaps he'd even lost his capacity to react to pain in the three months he'd been subject to the Dementors! 

Draco told him that at school some students rumoured and speculated if Severus was perhaps a vampire........so cold, so dark, so menacing and dangerous. 

Slytherins themselves, also they venerated their Head of House for who he was and for what he had been, kept nevertheless security distance with him................and so did his lovely Narcissa when his friend joined them for diner or some social occasion at Carthmarten Castle or Malfoy Manor. 

Sure, she enjoyed his cultivate behaviour, his excellent, slightly old-fashioned manners and his style, but Severus made her shiver with unease and she seemed always happy, when he took leave. Lucius himself had simply grown used to his friend's aloft, inhuman behaviour and icy eyes. They'd been partners in crime for so long now................

„I sincerely hope he did not kill you, my dear Severus!", Malfoy murmured to himself before pouring another three fingers of Laphroigh into the crystal glass. 

With a negligent wish of his wand he ordered the harpsichord to play some Emmanuel Bach for him.........to soothe his soul. Then he made the silent promise that Draco would never ever be brought to Voldemort's attention, even if this meant to send his little one - his boy - somewhere abroad to a faraway country and out of the reach of his Master. He would rather die the most awful of deaths then see his only child receive the Dark Mark only in order to find him one day for something totally insignificant on his knees in front of the Master, winding under a merciless ,Crucio' and crying out his lungs in pain..........

Voldemort stood once again in front of that silly baroque mirror in his bathrooms in that forsaken haunted manor on that storm-ridden desperate island off Scotland's Northern Coast. His red eyes stared into the glass. His robes had been dropped carelessly to the floor, the bedroom door was locked with powerful spells against whoever may be foolish enough to disturb him. 

He looked at his reflection with horror: His tall skeletal frame was no longer covered with a skin whiter then a skull, but with flabby pieces of rotting flesh that had turned greenish. 

The flat nose with slits for nostrils was of soft, almost jelly-like consistency. The large hands, like pale spiders were crossed by bluish veins that bulged their way through torn, dry parchment. 

The rite this weakling, panting rat of a Wormtail had performed had obviously gone terribly wrong. But how to explain the failure: Everything had been done by the book: 

„Bone of the father, flesh of a servant, blood of a foe!" The Dark Lord repeated incessantly the ingredients used at the graveyard. The place had been right, the timing had been correct, the ingredients were perfect and the rite was performed as of old..................

„Why for Lucifer's sake did I take blood of this Potter-child?" Voldemort suddenly realised that it was the blood that was wrong. The, Boy-who-lived' had already once been the source of his decay. Was he now up to a second strike? 

„Kill him, kill him, kill him!", a soft voice murmured incessantly into his ear."Take your revenge on the one who constantly defies you, the one who escapes your wrath each and every time you meet. Extinguish the source of your humiliation and the decay will stop. The ,Boy-who-lived' is cursing you by the very fact that he is still alive, still in this world. He must die. Soon!

"He will!", Voldemort murmured softly to his own image in the mirror,"He will! But for the time being I have more pressing issues to deal with. 

Voldemort gave a swish with his wand and his black and blood red robes hid his decaying body once again. He walked over to a large working table in a study with a window front overlooking the beach and seaside that were adjacent to the house. The table was covered with parchments. Only a small space was left to sit and write. 

„Wormtail!", the Dark Lord barked with a terrible voice of thunder and hate, „Wormtail come her immediately!" Another swish of his wand unlocked the bedchamber's door. "There is work to be done". Since he'd returned to power, again able to use a wand and wield magic, he intended to regroup what was left of his followers at its soonest. Although thirteen years ago Voldemort had lost his body and powers to the Potter boy, most components of his organisation had survived unharmed. They were simply frozen to sleep: There were huge quantities of gold stocked in various vaults and under various cover identities all around the Wizarding bank world of Europe and even over in America. Most of these riches had been stolen from the innumerable victims of his terror during nineteen seventies and nineteen-eighties. Two decades of exterminating muggles and wizards alike had allowed for the constitution of even larger funds of muggle money, which had been carefully placed in the hands of reputedly silent and competent bankers, who did not mind were the investments they placed on the stock exchange or in real estate rely came from: They had no scruples to wash drug money or revenues from white slavery, arms traffic or criminal organisations like the Italian and the Russian Mafia. They had no second thoughts when intermediaries of Voldemort's with funds acquired through cold-blooded murder and torture had approached them.

Peter Pettigrew gave a sigh of relief, when he found his Master watching out over the waves of the North Atlantic. He stood, his back turned to the door and Wormtail, next to the desk. Without any invitation, the rat-like man advanced, took his seat, straightened a blank piece of parchment in front of him, dripped a quill with ink and waited.

Voldemort cited the names and addresses of his old financial associates' -magic and muggle alike - from memory. The text he dictated to Pettigrew was almost always identical. He requested immediately information on the situation of the counts he'd entrusted to the letters recipient and what percentage had been added to his basic investments since the last statements of accounts which dated back to the autumn of 1981. Several holders of less important placements -magic and muggle alike - where informed that Voldemort intended to retrieve the operating capital plus interest price and closure the account in question. These letters the Dark Lord signed in his own hand: 'Tom M. Riddle'. He ordered Pettigrew to put them and all letters addressed to muggle institutions on a heap apart, before he'd go and prepare several owls. Then he sat down himself, pinning a short note to Lucius Malfoy:

'My dear Lucius,

although I perfectly understand your despise and loathing for muggles, I have a special mission for you, which will require your tact and diplomacy. You will find attached to this letter several commissions on which you will receive a full power of attorney in my own hand. I expect you to travel immediately to the indicated places and retrieve the funds that had been kept there for my cause. You will deposit 50 % of the grand total in Gringott's Vault 347 for which you should still have the key. The other 50% are to be transmitted to me in cash. I expect you to be the bearer of these funds and we shall discuss the further sequence of events at your return from this mission. 

Additionally you are requested to ensure the delivery of all attached letters via muggle post system to their recipients. In order to have their replies soon and without problems, you shall open a post box at the Central Post Office in London. Provide yourself with some coherent fake muggle identity for this. I suppose that the last years of idleness and boredom have not deprived you of your habitual lust for muggle slaying. Enjoy yourself, but do not fail me or the consequences of my wrath will fall upon that nice little family of yours……..

Lord Voldemort '

Pettigrew returned from having sent an impressive quantity of owls to all magic addresses of Voldemort. Delighted with the fact that for the last three or four hours he'd neither been barked on, nor had he been abused and maltreated, he stood to attention in front of his Master like a docile, nice hunting dog. 

"You get this briefcase straight into the hands of Lucius Malfoy, Wormtail! Hand it over and return immediately.", Voldemort said in a soft, dangerous voice. His nostrils quivered with excitement, his red eyes where beaming. 

An icy shudder speeded its way down from Pettigrew's almost bald head into his spine and legs. He trembled under this triumphant stare of his Master, but he knew that now he had to be strong and fulfil his commission. Money - muggle or wizarding - was the key to the success of the first phase of their enterprise: Corrupt those in high places or interesting positions and attract them to the side of Voldemort with riches and goodies.

In fact, they would not learn that they were selling their lives and souls to the Dark Lord that very instant they'd accept the bribe. The Master had great plans with Lucius Malfoy, who was so well introduced and so well connected at the higher political levels of their world……. The second step should then be a more subtle enterprise! 

The victims would learn from whom they had taken their bribe and he'd ask for a payback. Voldemort's masterplan had been evolving since his first reign of terror. 

He'd had years and years to ponder on the glorious plan that would lead him to absolute domination over the World……a World liberated of the scum, muggles, mudbloods, mugglelovers and other shames to Magic……and Wormtail felt a certain pride, thinking that he had been allowed to participate in this enterprise!

While his Master's foot soldiers, faceless sympathisers and innumerable Death Eaters that had survived the catastrophe that had followed Halloween Night 1981 would continue to wag physical terror and cast the Dark Mark in the sky to frighten and disturb, Voldemort himself would go for the terror of doubt, corrupting the institutions, seaming distrust between the deciders and the powerful, spreading diseases on to magic and non-magic alike, until they'd be so horrified and destabilised that they'd throw themselves willingly in the hand of the first man who'd propose them to bring everything back to normal, so that life can go on. 

Voldemort intended to make sure, that he'd be the man they'd turn to and he'd make sure that by then he'd be immortal, so that his dictatorship would go on forever. 


	24. The Madness of a Demon

I had to reload this chapter again; it was written between midnight and two o'clock in the morning and full of typos……and my PC swallowed part of the chapter!

Thank you for all the reviews. I am happy you like the story…………..and my interpretation of Snape ( who has absolutely nothing in common with A.Rickman in the film. He was brilliant as Col.Brandon in J.Austen's 'Sense and Sensibility' adaptation, but I am sorry……………the guy is a minimum 20 years to old to be in character with JKRs books…….to stiff in the duel scene and really not giving the impression of being too dangerous…………..!!!!!! Anyhow, a written word and one's imagination is worth a thousand screen adaptations….)

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Chapter 24 The Madness of a Demon

„What is much more interesting than this assembly of well known faces," Severus concluded the first part of his report, „is Voldemort's state of decay! I'll speak to you about this issue later, because I must explain couple of things that I've been up to since on holiday!"

Dumbledore had listened in silence. His light blue eyes fixed the young man who leaned still carelessly against the Magnolia tree over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. Was there a hint of triumph in these dark, black pits? The Headmaster took one more sip of this excellent ,grim' and waited impatiently for the second part of Severus account:

"Now, what about Voldemort's mind?", he asked. He had already forgotten the dire events of the last night and was completely caught in his game of chess.

„Old manipulating bastard!", the Potions Master clenched his teeth for a moment when a sharp pain went through his body like a knife. The after-effect of multiple Cruciatus Curses! He tried to switch his mind from the knife that plunge deep into his muscles back to the brain of the Dark Lord. It had helped him the night before to endure, it would help again. He'd never expected any compassion of Albus' when in his chess gaming mood and was already content that the man had gone out of his bedroom the night before without quizzing and questioning him. The French Army was more merciful on soldiers returning from mission; not one commanding officer would ever thing about digging into a man who was to fagged to reply coherently and with some sense. They'd first feed and rest them.........."Shit," Severus said to himself, when another wave of pain invaded his body.

„The Dark One is obsessed with his actual state of decay, because he cannot explain what's gone wrong with the rite. He who yearns for immortality must observe his body crumble even before he can resume Step One of his new quest for power........This is bye the way the reason why I am still alive, Albus! He stopped, because he was convinced that I'd rather swallow my tongue and die under his wand then give him the pleasure of even one single plea for mercy! He wants his Potions Master back.....to stopper his actual smelly situation and to work in fact on.............Step Two of his Master Plan!" Severus voice was dripping with sarcasm. Without realising what he was doing, the young man had returned to his ,war persona', starring down Dumbledore as he habitually stared down students and teachers at Hogwarts alike. He'd abandoned his Magnolia trunk for a chair between his father and the Headmaster. With a swish of his hand he made a big mug with steaming hot coffee appear on the table.

„He intends to use ................biological warfare, so to say..............together with classic muggle, mudblood and wizards' slaying spiced with melodramatic dark marks in the skies plus a corruption campaign in the higher spheres of political and other power to create so much chaos and disaster, that all survivors would yearn for a firm hand to restore order and...........he wishes to be this firm hand. Voldemort has gone completely nuts..............he's not only a demon, he's a mad demon who wants to be a new Joseph Stalin (1) of the magic and the non-magic world alike."

Aurelian stared at Dumbledore and Dumbledore stared back at his old friend. Having been through the Grindlewald era, both were familiar with Stalin and understood Severus cynic, but historically correct allegation perfectly well.

„Compared to what I would expect from a Dark One, that's a relatively modest aim, son!", Aurelian functioned on a logic soldier's mind augmented with the knowledge and the wisdom of the Old Religion. Indeed, just lusting for being a bloody dictator wasn't that serious. The non-magic folks had possibility for each and every ruthless, bloodthirsty and clever bastard with a certain amount of silly followers and a confuse political program to exercise his dictatorial potential in a banana republic or rock state for a while......................

Severus nodded. He'd been dazzled too when wandering through Voldemort's mind. Most things he'd found came close to the average desires of the average power-lusty muggle......the Dark Lord had even a knack on being the richest bastard with the biggest bank account in the Hall of Fame of Dictatorship.........and in between all these non-magic desires the young man had wandered through big holes of pure, concentrate and uncoordinated evil, as if he'd walked the mind of a naughty three years old who relished in mischief to make his mother angry. Before his nightly stroll, Severus had always been convinced that behind Voldemort's tendency to torture and hurt even his inner circle most ruthlessly stood a consequent plan to obtain obedience through fear. But he'd only found a creature that got his kick from the suffering and the pain of someone else! Nothing but a basic sadist…….

„Did you stumble over some weak spot in that mess?", Dumbledore enquired. 

The Potions Master acknowledged with a nod. He sipped his coffee before giving a reply. If it would have been for him alone, he'd still lay in bed under his cosy blanket and have a nice nap, preferably with some strong painkilling potion and another treat of his mother's Symphytium officinalis tincture on his raw, sore back. The ,great Gorseed' was fixed for the day after Lugnasadh and he was not terribly inclined to cross the stone ring and get Merlin with a shaking, shivering body left behind and a risk to not getting his soul back into his frame after having lifted the veil. But Dumbledore most certainly did not worry about this practical issue of bringing the ,Old One' to the assembly. It must have been at least 500 years since the last of the druids of the British Isles had crossed a stone ring to request advice and guidance from Myrrhidin. Their stone rings had long since been degraded to muggle tourist attraction. Since the XVII. Century at least…..!

„Voldemort's truly obsessed with Harry!", Severus eyes turned cold. He hated the idea of having that poor kid in this sad affair. And with young Potter's reckless lust for adventure and pocking his nose in matters that were no concern of his, it already smelled like lots of additionaol trouble to the Potions Master. He'd wanted him out, out, out.........rocketed back into a normal youth, out of harms way. War was not a kid's game. It was no game at all! 

„He considers the boy the root of all his ills and wishes him dead. He considers the simple fact that Harry is still alive the key obstacle to his holding and wielding absolute power over the world!" The young man sneered and added almost inaudibly, „He's completely nuts!"

„Unfortunately, Severus, this madness attracts lots and lots of other unbalanced creatures. See, Fudge has gone over to the Dark although he is the Minister of Magic, he has power, he has influence, he has everything!" 

„Fudge also wants to keep all these advantages and you know fairly well that not everybody in the magic world of the British Isles is satisfied with his ministry. If I remember well, there should be an election next year in March? Fudge would loose his job even against Dobby the house-elf, if Dobby ever decided to run for the post!" 

Sarcasm was dripping invisibly to the fresh green grass under Severus chair. A huge pool would have floated around his feet, if ever cutting remarks could materialise in any liquid form. But the young man had always been quite straightforward when it came to saying loud and clear what others would only whisper.

Dumbledore shook his head in despair. The young one would never change. 

„ Severus, Severus, Severus! The expectation of loosing an election may be a element of trauma for a politician indeed, but is not reason enough to go over to Voldemort and risk premature demise by ,Aveda Kedavra' just because the Dark One does not like the cut of your new Death Eaters robe!" 

Another pond of sarcasm was building up on the green grass of the lovely Medieval garden of Montmuran.

„Now stop your philosophical reflections on the weaknesses of men and tell us about the rite that has gone wrong and Voldemort's bodily decay. This is much more interesting and perhaps something to work on, if we want to get rid of that evil manifestation before the end of the next century."

The Potions Master explained to Dumbledore and his father what he'd seen with his own eyes and smelled last night. Then he went into the details that the Dark One himself had given as an explanation concerning the ritual in the graveyard.

„I am not an expert on Satanism, Albus, but I have checked the issue with a trusted friend of mine, who knows the stuff very well and he confirmed to me that everything has been done by to book, but nevertheless the ritual in itself was rotten. My friend told me that it is well known that ,Bone-Flesh-Blood' instantly turns to decay. He's actually off to some place where he can check everything out in depth and consult with some colleagues of his who are also well versed in Satanism." 

„Very well, Severus! Will you enlighten us, whom you questioned, just to still my curiosity?" The Headmaster had already a twinkle of an idea with which community the young one had been in touch. 

„You shall meet him soon. He's called this morning from Rome. I'll pick him up at the rail station tomorrow in the afternoon. He is booked on Air France's first flight to Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris."

Dumbledore and Aurelian smirked in unison. ,Mystify' should be made a standard spell. Severus had worked on it nicely and it was fully operational for the gifted wizard.

„Son, could you be clearer? We are two old men and had already a couple of drinks.........At least I am fully aware of the fact that Air France flies into CdG (2) when coming from Italy. We asked you ,Who?', not ,How?'......."

Already in the Thabor Botanical garden this idea had come to Severus mind. Since then it trotted in his head and became the more and more attractive. Considering the subject carefully and from all sides, it would be even a convenient solution for a constant problem of Albus' in his function as Hogwarts Headmaster..............since that stubborn old bastard was unwilling to give in and allow the ,best' man available to take the job! And he could live with the solution without fuming and exploding ......Anyhow, the Cruciatus after-effects had by now ebbed down and that third cup of steaming hot pure caffeine diluted with a hint of water worked more effectively than half his ,Pepper-Up Potions' and......it tasted much better. Severus humor was back to normal and his 'war persona' dropped with the last drips of sarcasm into the pool on the lawn.

„Who? Well, Albus! Hogwarts new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, I presume and I promise you, he's impressive although wand-waving and silly spells are not so much his cup of tea. His methods, when it comes to evil are slightly more........rusticated. I believe Mad-Eyed Moody will instantly fall in love with him!"

Aurelian gave a deep sigh and murmured:"Father Yannick Le Floa'ch of the Benedictines, Exorcist under the orders of the ,Saint Offizium' in Rome and a special protégéé of the impressive Cardinal Ratzinger who's been my father's host in this castle........."

Dumbledore lifted his eyes from Severus and turned to Aurelian with a huge grin on his face. That had been indeed a memorable night, when they had been in the deepest dungeon of Montmuran with all doors locked through powerful anti-muggle charms and upstairs a desperate GESTAPO hit man accompanied by a handful of uniformed half-wits found himself attacked by something far worse then resistance fighters...................the memories of his horrible atrocities closed in on him and finally pushed the bastard out of a window of the Southern Tower of Montmuran. In the meantime he, Aurelian and that foolishly courageous young Jesuit finished a bottle of aged Calvados, feasting on the defeat of an enemy........a wizard, a druid and an exorcist and Catholic priest. What a strange alliance had this been!

„Why not," the Headmaster smiled at Severus, „Why not!"

_____________________________________________________________________________

Joseph Stalin had been successor to V.I.Lenin. As Secretary general of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union he had risen to absolute power through sheer terror, exterminating during his rule that lasted from the 30ies until 1953 millions of his own people, executing them, killing them slowly in the Siberian Prisoner Camps, better known as GULAGs and starving them through an overpowering emphasis of the USSR economy on production of military equipment. Stalin's right-hand man Beria, was the boss of the all-powerful and terrible secret police NKVD, latter to be known as KGB.

²Accronym for Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris. Much used when the French refer themselves to this airport.


	25. The Prophecy of Gwenlac'han

Chapter 25 The Propecy of Gwenc'hlan

  
  


The kitchens of Montmuran were impressive. They had been preserved from those days, when the fortress hosted not only the family of the Dukes of Brittany but also their soldiery. 

  
  


Montmuran had been a fully operational defense for almost a thousand years and only the coming of modern warfare with powerful weaponry to substitute for men, horses, archery, blank weapons, canons and siege engines had emptied the premises during the last quarter of the XIX.Century and after the Franco-German War of 1870/71. Since then the Dukes had it transformed into first, a large exploitation and finally the agriculture enterprise. This had been the work of Severus father, Aurelian. 

  
  


Soldiery had been replaced with farm hands, agriculture engineers specialised in breeding of lifestock, mechanics, a small veterinarian clinic and artificial insemination station for the Holsteins and even an accountancy service of eight full time accountants and a lawyer for tax and investment issues. But these people, contrary to the traditions of the days of old mostly did not live on the grounds of the Fortress. Some of them effectively never ever had put foot into the Brocéliande Forest, prefering their airconditionned offices in Rennes' ‚Zone Industrielle' to cows, horses and huge muddy tractors.

The second economic outlet of Montmuran, a big ridding club and the studs had hotelry and even a restaurant. But neither was located in the fortress. They occupied an annexe property, about 1,5 km away from the fortress with own personel and separated by three meters of medieval stone walls. Aditionally it was the business of Severus' eldest sister Gwenael and her non-magic husband Michel Gurerard, a well-renowned French ‚Chef'(1). ‚La Domaine des Iffs' proudly displayed its two ‚Michelin Stars'(2). 

  
  


Habitually Michel would rather enjoy the peaceful family diners in the Medieval Garden then to fumble around in the Montmuran kitchens himself, but today he was here at the special request of his mother-in-law Geneviève. Under the attentive eyes of the elves, his own wife Gwenael, Myriam, Geneviève and Delphine, he was engaged in building up a strange and very complicated cake. The thing had the form of a dragon, more precisely a Hungarian Horntail Dragon.

  
  


„Now quickly the ‚bisquite'", he motionned over to a house elf that stood by a large oven. The tiny little creature flipped the oven's door open and extracted with great delicacy a plate on which a fine, yellowish and airy consistency lay. It was exactly 1,5 cm high and warm.The little elf carried the oven form with the ‚bisquite' as if it where raw eggs.......and indeed for ‚the Chef' it was. Michel lifted the stuff with a fine wooden spatule and placed it delicately in the dragon form he had specially created for the event from marsipan.

  
  


„I always loved watching this part of the game!", Gwenael took a sip of Earl Grey tea, „That reminds me of a sculptor, creating a piece of art!"

„It is a piece of art, dear! And I ensure you, it's much tastier then bronze or marble.....", Michel looked up from his work for the quarter of a second. The tiny house elf watched with terror a small piece of bisquite slidding to the left, but before she could make the remark to the ‚Chef', his crafty, experienced fingers had it back in place.

  
  


„Will be fun to see young Harry's eyes when he finds the ‚beast' at midnight on the table in the garden.", sniggered Delphine. Although totally non-magic, the Horntail would spit fire for a short time. Michel Gurerard was reputed for deserts that suddenly ‚became alive',"Where is the young man, by the way. Neither he nor Morigan turned up in the stables and I did not see them at either breakfast or lunch!"

  
  


Gwenael turned to her sister and smirked.

  
  


„Oh, oh!", the younger women replied knowingly,"T'was about time for the two to solve that issue.When they disappeared yesterday after diner for a ‚walk in the forest', they already looked as guilty as the cat that stole the cream........" She gave a small glance to her wristwatch and realized that it was already early afternoon,"Obviously they have good fun......anyhow, by midnight we should have them back with us for the cake. They must get hungry and thirsty a moment or another! "

  
  


„I brought them a snack and drinks upstairs!", a tiny house elf in cute ‚Petit Bateau' childrens clothes - navy style cotton sweater and blue cotton skirt- sniggered. 

  
  


„Will you manage with all those guests that will arrive tomorrow?", Michel casually asked his mother in law and ‚Pervenche' the chief house elf, who sat next to her mistress with a cup of cherry juice. Michel was to much in his ‚Hungarian Horntail' then to pay any attention to the kitchen rumors about Morigan's and Harry's ‚amourette'.

  
  


Genevieve looked at ‚Pervenche', who gave a reassuring nod. They had all guest rooms ready. Most of the food stuff was done and down in the dungeons in a very un-magic freezing chamber that worked on electricity. Although Pervenche mistrusted the cables and occasional sizzling of the installation when a heavy wave of magic shocked the electronic components of the thing, she had to admit it was practicall, when receiving loads and loads of guests. 

She put her finger on her nose in thought for a moment:„Although we would not say no, if you could make ‚Mousse au Chocolate' and ‚Iles Flottantes'(3), Master Michel! Yours is simply tastier then ours. You must show us again that trick of yours with the adding the ‚Creme fraiche' and the chocolate nuggets....", the chief house elf replied dreamily. 

  
  


They were all experienced elves, but to learn new receipts and tricks from one of France's best ‚Chefs' was something they really enjoyed, also Master Michel never allowed them to touch anything in his own kitchens. They were his sanctuary, his jewel and no one but him would create and cook there. But instead of doing the job themselves, they were allowed to watch the master and.......test his creations! 

  
  


Pervenche put her cherry juice on the table, then stood up and went over to the ‚Horntail' with keen interest in her eyes. The ‚Mousse au Grand Marnier' waited to give the ‚bisquite' its fill. The colour was a light, delicate orange. It had been kept at a very precise temperature during the other preparations, so to be firm enough but not hard. Michel beamed with pride, when the body of that complicated form finaly stood firmly on four sturdy chocolate legs.

  
  


„How's Sev doing,", Geneviève lowered her voice, when adressing Myriam. The others did not listen. They were to much caught by the crafty work of Gwenael's husband and the ‚Horntail' who took more and more the appearance of the design that was scotched to a blackboard close to the working table.

  
  


„You know that I promised him never to try and read his mind!", Myriam gave a tiny sigh, "But from feeling him, I would say he is more or less ok. I woke a bit earlier then Severus and while sleeping, his aura was light grey. It had not darkened, but you must take into consideration that he was with me, someone he trusts. He felt perfectly secure. ................even during the worst moments after Voldemorts first fall, when he came out of this gruesome place Askaban, his aura turned from almost black instantly back to light grey when I was around. Geneviève, I may not be the best judge in Sev's case."

  
  


„Neither am I, child! None of the family is. When he is at Montmuran he's an ambulant cameleon, changing colours as soon as one of us comes into his view. The elves tell me also he's light grey as usual......", the elder woman said with a hint of sorrow in her voice. She knew the dark potential and powers of her son only too well. Merlin was the son of the Devil and each of the three heirs of the ‚Old One' had inherited the peculiar dark powers that came with the blood of the ‚Evil One they carried in their veines.

Severus two predecessors, Chyndonax(4) and Gilles de Laval(5) had shown their terrible magic in times of dire emergency and when their world had been in danger. They had called upon the elements to devour the enemies of their kings and people, they had waged destruction beyond the imaginable when no other way out was left. 

Gilles, after the betrayal, process and execution on the stake of his pet witch Jeanne d'Arc had even never ever managed to get his light grey aura back. He'd ended almost a dark druid and only the fact that the King of France had him executed for a political pretext eleven years after the coronation of Reims had avoided larger problems and re-established the equilibrium. Geneviève was fully aware of the fact that Severus had prefered Gilles over Chyndonax, when he had been an apprentice at Avalon. Chyndonax had been more a philosopher and theologian skilled in the divine nature and able to communicate with the gods easily, while Gilles was clearly a warlord in the first place. That he also excelled as a seer, healer and alchimist was more the add-on than the principal.

  
  


Myriam put her arm gently around Genevièves shoulder:" Simply trust your son's judgement. If it needs rough methods to get rid of that demon Voldemort, he'll employ them, even at the risk of resorting to his dark side for a while, but he'll return. He has returned the last time, too! He knows that staying there for too long would break our bond and there would be no way back. Feeries do not make mates for dark druids, we never will......... "

  
  


„Bless you, child!" Geneviève murmered. She did not want the other members of the family and the house elves learn about her sorrow. As the situation presented itself today, it was perhaps better to trust Myriam's judgement of Severus'.

  
  


Around the working table of Michel Gurerard there were loud acclaims and some of the tiny house elves even clapped their hands. The Hungarian Horntail stood proudly on a huge silver plate. As a last finishing touch Michel deposited with great care a nest made of fine caramel strands between his frontlegs. Four chocolate eggs laid in the nest and the cake dragon guarded them with fierce red candy eyes.

  
  


„Now all we have to do is get young Harry out of our ways for a couple of hours tonight!" Delphine sniggered exitedly. She had grown very fond of the boy over the last months he'd spent with them. She also knew his ‚history' in each and every detail. One year after Harry's parents death and the defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort , Severus had returned to Albus Dumbledore, her father's best friend and he had claimed the child, telling Albus that having been the bane of the Dark One, he must be brought to Myrrhidin and raised in the Kreeden Geltiek even if he was not of the blood. Severus had claimed Harry, because he had listened to the bards after he had given them his account of the fight against Voldemort. Her brother had been in a state of near despair in front of the ‚Great Gorseed', because he considered the fact that he had failed to destroy the dark wizard with his Death Curse a sign of Cernnunos (6) 

the first-born of Nature -Anu the All-Mother- , a punishment for the countless other death spells he'd been obliged to cast against innocent magic and non-magic folks in order to keep up his cover inside the Death Eaters. Having potentially angered Cernnunos meant for Severus that he would not get his grey aura of equilibrium of the powers of nature back. He would be condemned by the gods; condemned to stay dark and to become a wanderer between the worlds after his death, a shadow, an outcast never to cross the limits back into Brocéliande! A Heir of the Old One who was refused his grave under ‚La Roche aux Fées' and even worse, who'd not be allowed to return to Avalon. An old bard had risen in trance in reply to his account and sang „Diougan Gwenc'hlan"(7). Sev considered this an extremly strong sign that in order to appease Cernnunos he must go and claim the boy for them. The ‚Diougan' stated clearly „Pa ne vin klasket, vin kavet, Ha pa 'z on klaket, ne z'on ket" - „If they shall try and find me, they will not, but if none looks after me, I will be found", but Dumbledore had refused stubbornly, declaring her brother's interpretation of the propecy exagerate („You are not in your habitual state of mind, Severus!") and his preoccupations with the anger of Cernnunos a stress syndrom after two years of deadly dangerous undercover activities and - including Askaban- four months of brutal physical and psychological abuse by those of his own side.

Sev had come back from Hogwarts like a beaten dog. For the fourtyeight months that followed this ‚No' of Dumbledore's he had factically gone into hidding, avoiding the stone rings, the power, the brethren and even the ‚Old One' from sheer fear that he carried his dark aura like a highly contagious disease.

He'd returned to Claude Fillon, traded alchimy for bio-chemistry and a scientist's job at the DGSE. The sole and single magic he did during this time was to apparate regularly to a house in England, whose adress was Privet Drive N°4. There he'd sit in his raven form on a tree for hours and hours, observing helplessly how those stupid non-magic relatives of Harry mistreated and abused the child. 

  
  


„Well," Delphine said to herself,"at least now the kid is with us and if he wishes so, he'll never ever be obliged to return to his non-magic folks!" 

* * *

1. ‚Chef' is the name given in France to a top class cook. It takes a very long apprenticeship with other chefs and rigid exams, before one is authorized to use this title. 

2. Michelin is a French Gourmet Guide; restaurants rank from no star to three stars. Three stars are accorded to only a chosen few. The stars have to be earnded annualy from specialised journalists, who travel the country and test the food and wine.

3. Typically French deserts

4. Prince des Vacies Drvydes Celtiqves Düüonois and Archdruid.His tomb had been discovered near Dijon in 1621 by Guenebauld: The inscription, translated in French reads as follows:

"En ce tombeau, dans le sacréé boccage  
Du Dieu Mithras, est contenu le corps  
De Chyndonax grand Prestre; mechant hors,  
Les Dieux Sanneurs le gardent de dommage."

5. Gilles de Laval, baron de Rais, was named as marshal of France on the occasion of the coronation of Reims (in July, 1429). This fourth office that was created specially for Gilles de Rais, because of its behavior in the defense of Orléans. Some claims that Jeanne d'Arc said to him on the day of the liberation of Orlééans: "My sweet Sire and so brave and so good companion, I have succeeded in this company because I must to you more than in quite other"! The bravery of the Baron de Rais, disputed by numerous authors, was to be darkened by his actions later in his life. He was condemned and put to death on October 27, 1440, for crimes of perfidy, murders, witchcraft, denial of the Faith and sodomy. Gilles de Laval was also a reputed alchimist, but this point did not play against him, when put on trial.........considering the long list of ‚crimes' he was already having, it was perhaps not that important that he stirred around in cauldrons, too. 

6. Cernnunos, a nature and fertility god, has appeared in a multitude of forms and made himself known by many names to nearly every culture throughout time. He is perhaps best known to us now in his Celtic aspects of the untamed Horned God of the Animals and the leaf-covered Green Man, Guardian of the Green World, but He is much older. Cernnunos worked his magic when the first humans were becoming. Our prehistoric ancestors knew him as a shape-shifting, shamanic god of the Hunt. He is painted in caves and carved everywhere, on cliffs, stones, even in the Earth Herself. Humans sought to commune with Him and receive his power and that of his animal children by dressing themselves in skins and skulls, adorning themselves with feathers and bones, by dancing His dance. 

  
  


In his Underworld aspect Cernnunos is The Dark Man, the god who dwells in the House Beneath the Hill, the Underworld. He is the one who comforts and sings the souls of the dead to their rest in the Summerlands of the Otherworld. Cernnunos, as Master of the Wild Hunt, who pursues the souls of evil doers, is not associated with a biblical or even modern morality, but with the protection and continuance of the Land and Nature and the spirits that dwell therein. He also has a darker, dangerous nature. The panic or terror often associated with him is not related to human violence, but to the Life and Death of the natural world. In modern times he is often called the God of the Witches and embodies uncorrupted masculine energy. A masculine energy that is fully-developed and in balance with the natural world

7. The Propecy of Gwenc'hlan is a very cryptic thing; it is kind of a vision: The wounded boar, representing the foreign (British Isles) prince is surrounded by other, smaller boars that beat him furiously, when from the sea rises a white horse with silver corne (representing the Breton prince; Breizha-Brittany is always associated with the sea). It strikes the smaller boars furiously and drowns them in a sea of blood, thus saving the wounded boar from his own kin.

For those interested, here's the full text in Breton:

Pa guzh an heol, pa goenv ar mor, Me oar kana war dreuz va dor. Pa oan yaouank me a gane;Pa 'z on deuet kozh, me gan ivez. Ma gan en noz, me gan en deizhHa me zo keuziet koulskoude. Mar d'eo ganin stouet va beg, Mar 'm euz keuz, n'eo ket heb abeg! Evid aon me n'am-euz ket; N'am-euz ket aon da voud lazhet! Evid aon me n'am-euz ket; Amzer awalc'h ez-on me bet! Pa ne vin klasket, vin kavet, Ha pa 'z on klaket, ne z'on ket. Na vern petra c'hoarvezo: Pez a zo dleet a vezo.Red eo d'an oll merbel teir gwech, Kent evit arzao en-divez. Me wel an hoc'h o tont diouz ar c'hoad, Hag en gwall-gamm, gwallet e droad; E beg digor ha leun a wad, Hag e reun louet gant an oad; Hag e voc'higoùù tro-war-dro,Gant an naon braz o soc'ho.Me well ar morvarc'h o eneb-tont,Ken a gren an aod gant ar spont. En ken gwenn evel an erc'h kann; En e benn kornioùù arc'hant. An dour dindannan o virvi,Gant an tan daran euz e fri; Morgezeg endro dezan ker stankHag ar geot war lez ar stank. -Dalc'hmad'ta, dalc'hmad'ta, morvarc"hDarc'h gant e benn; darc'h mad'ta, darc'h! Ken a risk er gwad an treid noaz  
Gwasoc'h-was! darc'h-ta, gasoc'h-was! Me wel ar gwad evel eur waz!Darc'h mad'ta, darc'h-ta, gasoc'h-was! Me wel ar gwad hed penn he c'hlin!Me wel ar gwad evel eul linn! Gwasoc'h-was! darc'h-ta, gasoc'h-was!Arzaoi,a ri benn arc'hoaz!-Darc'hmad'ta, darc'hmad'ta, morvarc"hDarc'h gant e benn; darc'h mad'ta, darc'h! Pa oan em bez yen, hunet douz,leviz an erer o c'hervel en noz.E ererigoùù en a c'halve;Hag an oll evned euz an nenv;Ha lavare dre e c'hervel:-Savit prim war ho tiwaskel!  
N'eo ket kig brein chas pe zenved,Kig kristen renkom da gavoud!-Morvran goz,klev; lavar din-me:  
Petra a c'hoari ganit aze? Tal ar Penn-lu c'hoari ganin;E zaoulagad ruz a fell din. E zaoulagad a grapan net,Abeg d'az re e-deuz tennet. -Na te, louarn, lavar din-me,Petra a c'hoari ganit aze?- E galon a c'hoari ganin,Oa ken diwir ha va-hini, E-deus c'hoantaet da laza,E-deus da lazet, a-bell zo. Na te lavar din-me, touzeg,Petra a rez aze e korn e veg? Me a zo aman n'em laket,O c'hortoz e ene da zoned.  
Ganin-me vo tra vin er bedEn damant glan oc'h e dorfed E-kever ar Barzh na jomm kenEtre Roc'h-Allaz ha Porz-Gwenn.

This form of the propecy - a poem- is attributed to Aneurin, Taliéésin et Llywarch-Hen, bardes that have been living between the VI.th and the XII.th century.


	26. The Gate of Epona

Thanks for reviewing and your continuous interest in my story. I'd love to have more reviews (or flames, if I bore you with my Breton + translation in the footnote); This is just so encouraging for a writer and with my other book (the printed one, the serious historic novel) I only get numbers from sales and what professional literary critics write, but no direct feed back from readers................so be nice, make my day and tell me what you think!

* * *

Chapter 26 The Gate of Epona

  
  


Why not giving it a try! Are you sure that your Benedictine friend can cope with the shock of entering our World, Severus?" 

Dumbledore had stood up from his comfortable chair and started to pace the lawn, his arms folded behind his back and a smile on his face. His blue eyes sparkled as if he were a fifteen years old planing a naughty prank for the grown ups.

Snape gnarled. He did not like this look on Albus face. Each time it appeared, it announced a misterious flow of events that mostly resulted in some underage wizard getting himself into dire trouble. Indeed it had always started this way! 

Severus rose his arched, fine black eyebrows, rubbing the bridge of his nose, as was his habit when thinking hard: Handing out James' invisibility cloak knowing exactly that the boy and his two troublesome croonies Weasley and Granger would use it to stick noses in concerns which were none of theirs, while they kept Flamel's Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts. 

Condesceding with the Dream Team's pursuit of what turned out to be a younger manifestation of the Dark One and a basilisk, when the Chamber of Secrets had been reopened. 

Helping them in getting a convict murderer away from the law enforcement authorities of the British Ministry of Magic. 

Severus stopped an instant! He had no prove for this one, but his instincts told him that the Headmaster had been involved.

Ok, Black was innocent and the better he had not been punished for a crime he never ever committed." Severus said to himself But he's nevertheless an irresponsible bastard and a most glorious asshole!" 

The Potions Master continued rubbing the bridge of his nose, gnarling and spitting like an upset tomcat.

And then the shit that happened with the Goblet of Fire...."  


Allowing the boy into theTriwizzards Tournament with the outcome now known to the entire magic community! 

Sometimes Severus could not help but suspect Dumbledore to do everything in his power to push Harry Potter straight into the arms of Voldemort, hoping that they'd have a final showdown and the fifteen-years old wizard would ridden the world of the Dark Lord with a swish of his wand. 

Ok, as you wish, my friend!", Snape stopped rubbing his nose and arching his brows, looking at Dumbledore with the most charming smile he could muster under the given circumstances. If the Headmaster wanted to play a tough round of Wizards' Chess..........

My,my,my! We're in for trouble......." 

The old wizard had been observing the young one from over his spectacle rims, while pacing the lawn. He knew Severus since ................since long before he'd come to Hogwarts, almost from the cradle off. This charming disarming smile announced complications and a shouting match. And all this for an innocent question concerning the abilities of the new recruit on Hogwarts teaching staff!

Well, perhaps the young one would refrain from barking and howling in the presence of his father, but still.................

Snape lifted his lean frame gracefully from the chair under the Magnolia tree. Then he gave a slight mocking bow to Aurelian and Dumbledore.

"Gentlemen, having reported to you all the events of this encounter with Voldemort and feeling still a bit shaky from last night's discussion' with that maniac, would you allow me to retire for a while? And be ensured that Father Le Floa'ch is perfectly competent to cope with our world, Albus...........he has a magic of his own."

Aurelian threw his eldest son a suspicious glance. Albus stopped his pacing and turned around in slight shock.

Holy Merlin, he's not loosing his temper! What the matter..........Blimey!"

Before either of the two elder men could reply anything, the young Potions Master had turned on his heels and was leaving direction of the staircase that led to his rooms on the last floor of the Northern Tower of Montmuran.

With the Gorseed' blocking him for at least three days and having suggested himself a delay of only ten days to Voldemort in order to turn up with a potion that would efficiently stopper the bastards physical decay, Severus decided that he should spend his time on some usefull work instead of fighting it out verbally with Albus. 

It was better to sit down and discuss everything in peace, but a raw back, the after-effects of two Cruciatus Curses maintained for................He could not remember for how long, but it had been most certainly too long for a body that had been exposed to this type of harm far to often in a relatively short life.

Damn it!" 

Severus spit the words aloud, while fetching a sweater and a large black leather bag from his wardrobe. Habitually he minded his language, but Myriam was with his mother and sisters, preparing young Potter's birthday party. His rooms were empty, but for Marie the cat and Cicero, his raven who dozed peacefully on his perch, close to the open balcony door. The two of them had known him in fooler moods and did not mind his outburst.  


He knew that it was best for everybody at Montmuran if he'd keep out of sight for a couple of hours. He decided that it was wisest to disappear into the Brocéliande Forest for picking some ingredients of Voldemort's Smell Nice" potion. And although his mother's potions lab and ingredients stores were extremely well equiped and at the edge of alchemist technology, Geneviève's research and activities never requested the ingredients, he intended to use. Geneviève was a healer and her professional ethics forbad to put stoppers in decay and death. She considered these tricks fumbling around with the laws of Mother Nature........

Shelley's Frankenstein'! Indeed. And I swear, most revered Dark Lord, that thou shalst not be flattered by thy' image, when I am done and over with you....but you'll smell nicer!"

The young Potions Master grabbed his bag and flung the door close. He almost sprinted down the staircase of his tower, neither looking left nor right. Cruciatus after-effects mixed with a belicious mood and rebellious feelings as to Dumbledore somehow handicapped his habitually keen eye and so the inevitable happened. Severus Rogue, Comte de la Bedoyère and heir to Merlin and the Duchy of Brittany bumped at high speed into an obstacle.

One obstacle? No, two! And they looked as guilty as the cat that had stolen the cream.

Prof....Severus? Sorry!"

The right honorable Harry Potter Esq. collected the pieces of his lady-love', la Demoiselle Morigan de Villeon from the roughed stone floor. Morigan had been left quite breathless from frantic explorations of the misteries of life, lack of sleep and the 85 kilos of muscles and bones of her uncle's at high speed.

Snape dug down to the floor even quicker then Harry, which led to the next bump. This time it was stubborn head against dunder head.  


Sorry, kids!" Severus gave a terribly awkward and un-Snapelike smile."I did not watch my way, I presume."  


Sev, if you're in a bad temper, get out of here!" 

Myriam sizzled dangerously at her uncle. The girls perfect black eye brows rose in an arc that was perfectly familiar to Harry Potter. The long nostrils of her baby-eagles beak quivered with excitement, before delivering the final deadly blow on a favorite victim. 

The Boy-who-Lived' froze to stone. How could she dare to speak like that with the ........incarnation of evil, sarkasm and cynicism united?

Ok, he's her uncle!" Harry told himself in a reassuring voice. He cannot eat her and neither take House Points or deal a detention with Filch."

Severus took Morigan's small hand in his and drew the girl into a close hug:" I am so sorry, Dear! Please, do not be mad at me. It is just......I had a terrible night and a stormy discussion with Albus and Papa....and I do not like conflict and .....tension in the family."

Harry Potter was deep frozen by now. Hogwarts most dreaded teacher cuddled a underage wizard, potentially incline to pranks and mischief in his arms and......apologized. Sincerely!

Oh, keep your secret in your mystery in your cloud!" The young man wispered And live happily with it. I do...not...want...to...know...why!"

Sorry, Sev!" Myriam said gently, placing a kiss on her uncle's cheek and brushing her hand quickly through his raven black hair. I did not want to bark, but you surprised us!"

Snape let the girl go and gave her another un-Snape like smile. 

Harry had the impression that the ditty old bat knew quite a few things that would make him blush instantly and care for a tiny little mouse hole or......an Apparition permit, just to get off...off to Africa or India or far away to a place where......

One long finger of Snape's lifted Morigan's chin gently and he looked at her with kindred warm eyes.

C'hwi hoc'hunan bezañ karantez?"(1) 

Harry gave a small sigh. The ditty old bat's mum had put a French language spell on him. But this Breton thing....no clue.

Da belec'hez karet-hañ,Sev."(2) Morigan blushed slightly.

Her uncle gave her another hug. Harry did not need a language spell at all to understand. This sounded pretty much a confession of the latest events and he would find himself.......boiled in a cauldron shortly.

Mat zo graet."(3) Snape turned his attention from his niece to Harry and gave him an approving nod. Harry turned red like a lobster and fixed his shoes and the stone floor. 

Ober evezh, bugaligoù?"(4)

N'oc'hhen met daoui!"(5) Myriam smiled and returned the old bat's hug vigorously Da garout a ran ivez, Sev!"(6)

Snape lifted his face again and his dark black pits fixed Harry. There was no mocking and no menace. The ditty old bat's eyes were thoughtful.

Da belec'h ez war ar paotr'ed a vremañ! Ne doare ober mechañs e y den."(7)

Even before Harry could react to these words, Snape released Morigan from his hug, picked up his black leather back and changed back to French.

A walk in the forest would do the two of you some good. If you wish, you may come along with me to see the unicorns."

Harry looked at Morigan in some surprise. First he had not caught his Potions Master's last sentence which was so evidently directed towards him, although Snape knew exactly that he did not speak one single word of that strange language. Then the bat had mentionned unicorns. Harry had seen them on paintings, in the Unicorn Chamber on the beautiful tapiserie, even on plates and porcelains. At Montmuran unicorns were as omnipresent as were dragons, but......he had been to Brocéliande many times now! There were no unicorns or other magical beasts. It was just the most beautiful forest he'd ever seen in his life: Peaceful, light and clear, full with singing birds and hares and deer........

Morigan made the decision for the two of them. She simply took young Potter's hand firmly into hers and dragged him down the staircase of the Northern Tower.  


So we go and see unicorns?" Harry whispered into his lady-love's' ear, while following Snape over the lawn of the Medieval Garden, the cobblestones of the court and the old paved path down to the horses' stables and the prairies. 

Morigan beamed at Harry in place of an answer.

They stopped at the prairies in front of a wooden gate painted in white, which Severus opened. When he whistled short and sharp, the huge dark brown beast they had portkeyed from Hogwarts arrived in a trott. It stopped dead in front of its master, ears attentively dressed and with a begnin expression in its large dark eyes. Snape patted the beast gently and spoke some soft words that Harry could not understand and Mordred -that was his name- left the prairie, allowing his master to close the gate again.

I asked him to guide us." Tthe young Potions Master explained, perceiving the startled expression in Harry's emerald green eyes.

"The forest is huge. It would take us hours and hours to search for them ourselves."Just as he finished the sentence, the brown beast gave a neigh and left them in a trott, entering the forest by the same path, Harry had taken with Snape some days earlier, when trying to discuss the Dark Mark with his teacher.

For a while the three walked in silence along the path into the forest. Harry held Morigan's small hand contently in his and enjoyed the nice summer day and the warm beams that slipped through the trees down on his skin. It did not take long before they stood at a crossing, Harry had never seen before, also he had taken the path from the prairies and stables into Brocéliande almost daily, either on horseback or with the other kids for fun and play. The crossing was marked by a huge carved stone. The carving on the stone ressembled a women in wide, drapped robes. She was surrounded by horses(8). She seemed to pad the beast closest to her.

Snape laid his hand on the image of the stone and spoke :" Divorcilhañ an Nor, Epona!"(9)

Morigan pushed Harry gently towards the carved stone and whispered in his ear:"You must also say hello to her, because today you are her guest and allowed into her forest." Then she put her hand on the image and said in Breton Tomm awalc'h eo deoc'h mamm ar roue kezeg an douar."(10)

But I do not speak......" Harry gave Morigan a helpless glance.

Oh, she does not mind, young man!" came Snape's soft deep voice. Epona understands you perfectly well in each and every language and as you do not intend mischief or bad deeds, she'll welcome you."

Harry had not even realized that the huge carved stone had changed place, shifting to the left and giving away an entry into .........it was still the forest, but it seemed lighter, brighter and much sunnier then the part they had just come from. He followed his Potions Master and Morigan in curious expectation.

But how would your horse get through this gate, Severus?" The boy could no longer frein his curiosity. And he had the feeling that the bat would pardon him and give a reply. He had invited them to go and see the unicorns!

  
The gate of Epona is for us only. It is here to protect certain rare species and creatures from curious or unfriendly eyes. This is a little bit like the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts, but there are no dangers in here..........as long as you do not go and search for them on purpose................and Mordred is not a common horse, Harry! He is my familiar and in fact a Thestral, a winged horse. Now you see him with dark brown summer coat, but during winter he's raven black. Thestrals can become invisible and most uninstructed wizards' folk considers them unlucky and bringers of bad omen." The young man added with a smile. 

It was the furthest reaching personal information Potter had ever got from Snape himself, without asking.

Before the boy could quiz why a wizard would have a winged horse as his familiar, the whereabouts of the wings and how came that they obviously did not inhibit putting a saddle on the beast and riding him like a normal horse, Mordred reappeared from nowhere by his masters side. This time his wings were very much visible. The huge beast lowered its head and made some soft snorting noises, which Severus seemed to understand perfectly, because he replied.

Go join them and continue playing! We'll find our way."

The Thestral folded his wings against his body and disappeared in an easy canter.   


Morigan had not spoken a single word since they had crossed the gate of Epona. She kept to smiling mischieviously. Since Harry had been so preoccupied with details, he had by now not come aware, that the forest around them was pretty much alive, having traded quantities of known species for strange little creatures of blueish colour that observed them from behind the trees.   


Habitually the pixies were up to no good, when coming across an easy victim. They'd pull his ears and lift him into the air to suspend him by a branch, or they would pull faces and attempt to make him stumble and fall head over on to the ground. 

Considering the fact that they had come with Severus, the pixies prefered to stay at safety distance, instead of getting themselves involved in upsetting flight accidents, which were commonly related to a nasty little hex of her uncle's that tended to broil the creatures' capacity to navigate at high speed between trees and branches. She pointed them out for Harry.

Wow, pixies!" The boy giggled immediately, when seeing their prankish faces. He remembered the first Defence against the Dark Arts class taught in his second year at Hogwarts by that buff Gilderoy Lockhart.

We had a teacher, who released a whole cage of mad pixies in one of our classrooms. My, what a turmoil, when they suspended a classmate of mine under a dragon's skeleton that finally broke to pieces! We were in real trouble."

Snape continued his way with the kids, but could not refrain himself from chuckling, too. Lockhart! Since he'd been stricken by one of his own famous memory charms -curtesy Mister Ronald Weasley- he'd converted himself to fashion model for wizards' robes. Minerva had shown him a glamorous photo of Gilderoy's on the cover of Witches Weekly a couple of months ago. He'd failed to choke from laughter, notwithstanding the fact that almost all his teacher colleagues were present in the staff room at the very moment.

Why would a professor play such a silly prank?" Morigan asked innocently. 

Pixies had been on their Beaubaxton programm too, but they had been taught to stupefy them and pack them back in a cage, not harming teaching materials like dragon skeletons or classmates.........

That was no prank, dear!" Harry giggled That guy simply had no clue what to do against them himself."

And they let someone like that teach DADA?" The girl gave her uncle a questioning look, realizing the broad grin he sported from ear to ear.

Instead of a verbal answer, the Potions master attempted a most serious nod. He had no intention of choking with laughter in front of two underage wizards who could ruin his reputation of ditty, mean, old, menacing and humourless bat in less than ten seconds. 

Whenever he heard the name of Lockhart this damn picture of Minerva's appeared before his inner eye. And the memory of the Duelling Club was pretty lively, too. He'd never seen a wizard fly so high and wide from a simple Expelliarmus" cast with prudence and restraint. Severus made a short mental note to use in the future only Rictussempra" or Jellylegs" on any newcomer to the Hogwarts staff who'd try and revive that sort of club and request his assistance. 

A strange noise made the pixies suddenly disappear in a wave of anxious high-pitched chatter. The noise became a grunt-grunt and closed down on the three visitors of the Enchanted Forest of Brocéliande. 

Beurg, hags!", Morigan complained. They'll first chase everything cute and interesting and then start to make conversation with us. They believe themselves better then the other magical creatures of the forest, because they babble something, they consider a language."

  
Morigan, be niece with Kern and his family. It's not because they are smelly that we may be rude." Severus reprimanded his nice in a low voice, when a dark brown bunch in rag-shag clothings that ressembled potato sacks appeared in front of them. 

The ugliest -he sported enormous yellowish boar teeth and a porcine nose- streched out his clawlike hand to Severus. The other members of his tribe -or was it a herd- closed down on Morigan and Harry with an equally social and polite attitude. This did not make disappear the uncomfortable smell that suddenly floated in the air.

  
Good afternoon to you, Severus!" The hag named Kern grunted What brings us the pleasure of this visit?"

Hello Kern. I promised the kids to visit Hengist and his family."

Well indeed, unicorns make nobler company then our lot. Shall I presume that you have no time for a hump of nice, fresh ale on this warm summer day?"

Severus gave the hag a friendly slap on his hairy shoulder. 

"Next time, Kern. I am still around for another four weeks of holidays."

Kern returned the slap, grunted something to the other hags and all of them trotted back the same way they'd come from. 

Snape moaned softly. The heavy claw of the hag on his raw back had not been the best of ideas. Then with a deep breath he turned to the kids, hoping that they had not realized his momentary indisposition. 

  
"Well, we are almost there. Hopefully we do not stumble over other socializers or we'll never make it before dark!"

After another ten minutes of unhindered walk, off the path and right into the forest, Harry, Morigan and Severus reached destination. It could not be missed. Since the hags had disappeared, they could hear neighing and the sounds of hoofs that made the ground under their feet tremble slightly.

He's sure that these are unicorns and not an association of dancing mountain trolls?" Harry thought by himself, when the noise became louder and the ground trembled even more. 

As they finally stepped into a vast clearing by a small silvery lake with charming grottos in a huge rock, the boy suddenly understood what was going on. 

  
Several unicorns, coloured in various shades of grey and Mordred, Snape's Thetral familiar where runing over the lightning in a game of chase and catch. When one of the animals was in danger of being caught by one of his playmates, it would produce a slidding stop, spin around on his hindlegs and speed off in the other direction, kicking in the air and giving a neigh of victorious pride. Some pure white unicorns stood close to the water and observed the game of the youngsters lazily, munching from time to time a strand of gras or sipping a drink. Everybody seemed to enjoy the warm afternoon.

That is Hengist and his family!" Morigan told Harry He is the oldest unicorn stallion of Brocéliande. He's been her since the beginning of time."  


Wow, they are cute!" Harry gave a content smile. He'd seen only the unicorn foal Hagrid had shown them in Care of Magical Creatures and...........the other unicorn that had laid slain in the Forbidden Forest in his first year at Hogwarts, when Professor Quirell had hosted a decrepit Voldemort on the back of his head under a turban. To keep Voldemort alive, Quirell had killed the unicorn to drink its blood. It had been horrible. 

The huge snow white male with his impressive horn and bulging muscles left the group of bystanders and trotted over to Severus, Morigan and Harry. 

We have been expecting your visit, friends!" He greeted them without difficulties in a nice, well-pronounced and cultivate French. Than he lowered his head and looked at Harry.

So you have finally been allowed to spend your holidays in our beautiful forest and away from these terrible non-magic relatives of yours, young Mister Potter?"

Harry nodded and gave an awkward smile. He wondered who in and around Montmuran did not know everything about Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia , Cousin Dudley and Privet Drive Nr. 4. 

* * *

1. Breton So you made love?" 

2. Breton I am very fond of him, Sev."

3. Breton: It is good so." 

4. Breton"But you were careful, the two of you?" 

5. Breton: Sure, we were." 

6. Breton:" I love you, too Sev!" 

7. Breton:"Now you are a man! And I hope you will act like a man." 

8. Epona is also known as the Great Mare. She is, first and foremost, a Horse Goddess associated with the Gauls. In spite of Her popularity there seems to be little information readily available about Her. Unfortunately, any legends Gaulish Celts may have had have been lost to us.Epona was born of a mare and a man, Phoulonios Stellos. He chose to spurn womankind and instead mate with a mare. The mare gave birth to a beautiful and lively daughter whom she named Epona, and who became the Goddess of Horses. The giving of a name in most Celtic legends is of vital importance in that individual's future. The naming of Epona by her mother implies that the mare may have had a divine nature herself and that Epona followed on in some way from an earlier Horse Goddess.In imagery Epona is normally portrayed as a woman either sitting on, or surrounded by, horses. She may have been another form of the Great Mother Goddess as in some cases She is also often portrayed with a Cornucopia, a symbol of the land and fertility. She has also be portrayed as carrying keys, which may indicate a role in the underworld and accompanied with birds, often symbols of a happy otherworld.

9. Breton:"Open the gate, Epona!" 

10. Breton: I greet you godess, mother of the horses and of the land!" 


	27. A Gift of the Raven

Chapter 27 A Gift from the Raven

  


Harry moaned with delight in the hot bubble bath. It had indeed been a wonderful day, first with Morigan and then in the Enchanted Forest. Now he felt every single muscle in his body relax in the water and it did him enormous good. There were another two hours left before diner. He'd stay here and review his memories in peace: The unicorns had been very niece company. When they had seen the guests arrive they'd almost instantly stopped their play and invited Harry, Morigan and Severus for a chat by the lakeside. The players had mainly been young beasts, aged comparable to what the two kids were in a human timeline. This was the reason for their different shades of grey. Unicorns changed into snow white only when they were fully mature adults, which took easily one hundred years. None of them had problems to speak French, although the youngest and darkest foals had a fairly restricted vocabulary, just like young children.

  


Severus had entrusted Harry and Morigan for a while to the young fellowship to disappear with the old stallion Hengist into one of the grottos. He'd returned after some time with a very satisfied expression on his face and a couple of unicorn horns in his arms. At that occasion Harry learned that the powerful magic animals - not unlike stags - regularly shed their single defence in order to grow a newer and stronger one. Hengist's family always kept shed horns carefully in one of the grottos, because Severus and Geneviève needed them in various potions. 

  


During Snape's absence two fair grey stallions had proposed the kids even a ride on their backs and taken them in a canter around the lake and up the rock to allow Harry a good view over the Enchanted Forest.

  


„Gosh," the boy said to his ghostly friend Lagardère, „If I ever tell this story to my friends Hermione and Ron at Hogwarts, they'll never believe me!"

  


„Then, Master Harry, it is perhaps wiser to keep your joyful little secret in your own heart." Lagardère replied with a gentle smile. 

  


The ghost sat comfortably on the mantelpiece of the huge chimney and dangled his feet very UN-gentlemanly. He'd been treated in detail to the full trip and the many interesting encounters they had made on their way to and from the unicorns. Other pixies and hags, they had come across two hippogriffs with their young one, some forest goblins, which were much more friendly then the goblins he'd met at Gringotts Wizarding bank, but still terribly dutiful and occupied with collecting roots and flowers, a pond full of vuivres, a terribly ugly French kelpies that could not get one straight sentence out of their awful mouths without breaking into frantic laughter and many other creatures, familiar and less familiar. Severus had indicated to Harry that one of Broceliande's lakes housed water dragons, but they had obviously a nasty character and his Potions Master declined to show them. 

  


„I imagine, you are right Chevalier." Harry replied. 

  


It would not be easy anyhow to discuss his holidays with his friends. He had the strange feeling that telling Ron and ‚Mione' were he had been and what he had done would be a betrayal of Severus trust. The young wizard seemed to be extremely protective of his privacy and many other things, Harry could only guess from countless unspoken words and a few sentences that had made their way by now. 

  


Perhaps the man had truly a very good reason to behave like a bastard at school. 

  


Since he knew that Snape was working as a spy for Dumbledore and had done so already before up to the first fall of Voldemort, Harry was inclined to believe that a highly dangerous, lonely and difficult life could indeed cause someone to be constantly on his guards, defensive and even aggressive. And since he was now more and more willing to accept as reality, what Dumbledore had told him over the years............that during his first year at Hogwarts Severus had protected him, that it was Quirell who had hexed the broom and Snape had tried to get him safely down with a counter spell during that fateful Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin..........that the Potions Master had often been on his back just in order to keep a high-value target for Voldemort's cronies and their subtle attempts against his physical and mental well being out of harms way, etc. he mad a silent promise to himself, to keep his mouth for once shut and try to be a less rigid judge of the young wizard. 

  


Harry would have bet each and every gallon in his Gringotts Vault, that Snape -once back to Hogwarts - would instantly resume his horrible attitude without even a quarter second of delay, but perhaps there was no choice. Perhaps a man who had dared to betray someone like Voldemort for someone like Dumbledore experienced horrible turmoil in his soul and stress beyond the imaginable...........if he really ever had become a traitor to Voldemort? Why would unicorns - creatures of light - befriend a dark wizard? 

  


Harry took a cake of lavender soap and rubbed his arms vigorously. It did good to get rid of last nights sweating, although he would have loved to just keep Morigan's discreet scent of rose and lavender to his body for the rest of his life. Well, the lavender soap was already a good start. And cleaning up would certainly take his mind off that mystery of a Potions Master he could not solve anyhow. 

  


While Harry continued to laze in the bathtub, chatting happily with the ghost-chevalier, his bedroom seemed somewhat in a sudden turmoil. Hedwig threw mean glances at a couple of owls that had flown in one after the other in a neat row through the open balcony doors. The visitors settled on each and every place that was usable as a perch. All of them carried parcels. Some of them she recognised from the Hogwarts Owlery, other were completely unknown. Then the worst thing happened, when a stately and arrogant raven flew in, bullied her naughtily and took his seat on her own perch, feasting immediately on the owl nips in her crystal food tray and allowing himself a long drink of water from her very bowl. The nasty winter creature too carried a parcel. It was wrapped in dark green.

  


Harry left the ‚étuve' with just a towel wrapped around his hips. He felt restored, clean and content, but when he saw the situation in his bedroom, his face turned from a healthy tan to pale white. It was one unusual thing about The-Boy-who-Lived that he never looked forward to his birthdays. Until his third year at Hogwarts, he had actually never received a birthday card or a present in his life. The Dursleys had traditionally completely ignored his birthdays, since he had tangible childhood memories. Habitually on his birthday he was alone, locked up in his chamber on the second floor of Privet Drive Nr. 4 and banished from each and every kind of company. And as he was already alone and miserable, he habitually refrained from engaging himself in even more painful thoughts and obnoxious self-pity. 

  


But this year everything had been different. He had not cared, not even thought of his birthday, because for the first time in his 15 years of life he was neither miserable nor lonely on that very day. He'd forgotten his changing of age from sheer happiness and he had not even spent a single thought if any of the others present at Montmuran even knew about his birth date! And now this.....

  


Silhouetted against a red sun, slowly disappearing over the horizon and making place for the night, the stars and the moon sat splatterd all over his bedroom winged creatures with parcels attached to their legs in expectant hope of being freed from their burdens and receiving a treat from the addressee. 

  


Harry was for a short moment breathless and helpless. He did not even know where to start. So he decided to go by size. The first flurry messenger to be delivered of a parcel was an enormous barn owl he knew all to well. She belonged to Hogwarts and Hagrid used her habitually.

  


He unwrapped the present keenly. Inside lay a handy pocketknife with a nicely carved wood handle. Harry opened the letter that went with the knife.

  


„Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday!

I thought you could need a good knife. That is always handy when you ramble in the forest....or if you want to eat your luncheon outdoors. Didn't I tell you, you'd be fine in with Sev in France? Olympe and me are still on Hogwarts business, but I am already looking forward to see you back at school on September 1st.

  


Love

  


Hagrid (and Olympe!)"

  


The boy gave the barn owl a owls' treat and took his present and card to place them contentedly on his bed. Then he went to the next messenger and delivered it of its burden. 

  


After happily unpacking for half an hour, Harry had presents from Hermione and Victor Krum - a beautiful small painting showing a countryside and a romantic beach and a book titled „ The Vronsky Faint and other Useful Quidditch Manoeuvres". The two enjoyed themselves with Victor's parents at a seaside resort at the Black Sea in Bulgaria. Victor and Hermione seemed to get along very well. 

  


There was a parcel from Lupin and Sirius, too. He enjoyed the book they had given him. The title was terrific:„One Hundred Charms and Hexes to Drive your Friends Truly Mad". And there was a card, too. Sirius told Harry not to worry about him and that everything would be fine.

  


Albus Dumbledore send a full collection of sweets from Honeydukes Sweetshop in Hogsmead.

  


The other parcels came from the kids at Montmuran and contained sweets, magic fireworks and a nice „Cheat'em-all-Quill" with a spell to do homework all alone, if the user wrote down a couple of keywords and a title. The quill was a present from Gwenael's twins Lucius and Livius.

  


„That should be handy for the O.W.L.S!", Harry thought happily. He'd never seen something similar at Hogsmead or in Diagon Alley and he was sure, it was a French thing and passes probably undetected with all professors, but Snape (Who being French would know about homegrown cheating tools!)

  


Geneviève and Aurélian send him a beautiful atlas of the world that would show magic pictures of the place you tapped with your wand. It was a concept close to the ‚Marauder's Map', also the spell you had to use was much more honourable: „I am in quest of knowledge and desire to see!"

  


Morigan's present touched Harry deeply. His ladylove sent a charmed card, that when opened became a translucent miniature of the night sky with stars and the moon. And he found a small silver locket on a fine chain. The locket represented a unicorn standing erect on its hind legs. He put the chain quickly around his neck and gave a small sigh of delight.

  


Finally only one messenger was left with a burden. Harry had not even seen him at first, sitting black against an almost black night sky and on Hedwig's perch close to the balcony door. But the raven turned up all on his own, when the boy was finished with the owls, giving a piercing look from proud obsidian eyes and making a curtly bow with his head before stretching out his leg.

  


Harry did not recognise the animal and had no idea about who might have send it. 

  


Ravens had been out of fashion for almost two centuries, being considered not fashionable enough by most wizards and less affectionate then owls. 

Actually apart owls it were mostly beautiful and expensive birds of prey, like falcons or eagles that were employed by fashion-minded magic folks. Some younger wizards chose exotic birds - colourful parrots or Aras - but as they coped badly with the hazardous climate of the British Isles, they were terribly rare. 

But a raven..............?

  


Harry proposed a candy instead of an owl treat, since he had the feeling, the black bird would not appreciate the other snack. The raven took it gracefully, performed another elegant bow and disappeared through the open balcony into the night sky.

  


Harry looked at the present. It was wrapped in simple forest green paper and the only decoration was a dark red wax seal at its top. 

  


The boy gave a light smile: Two dragons holding a Pentagram between their claws! Severus! 

  


Who else would have a raven....? Two winter creatures, both black, both elegant, both mocking and polite, both silent and secret.......... The proud arrogant raven fitted the proud arrogant Potions Master well. 

  


Harry was curious to see what was inside. He broke the seal carefully with the knife Hagrid had offered him. Under the layer of green paper appeared a simple cream coloured card with again the two dragons holding the pentagram embossed on top. 

  


Harry read the familiar handwriting.

  


„Employ it wisely!" 

  


Three words. No signature, no „Dear Harry", no „Happy Birthday". Three words only. 

  


When Harry found out what was hidden in the parcel he understood that it did not need more.........................For a moment he looked speechless at the ‚Pensive' on his knees. 

  


It was not the most common magic object. Dumbledore owned one, but nobody else Harry knew had a ‚Pensive'. They were as much out of fashion as ravens. They were rare and habitually full of ancient magic. Few wizards felt comfortable with the idea of reviewing their thoughts at will. 

  


His ‚Pensive' seemed a particularly old object. It was carved in grey granite stone and decorated with runes and the likings of magic beasts that no longer existed. He put it on his bed table and beamed at it. „Employ it wisely!" 

  


A light „pouf" woke young Mister Potter from his revelries and the joys of unpacking birthday presents. The tiny, little house elf gave the boy a cute smile.

  


„Now you had all your presents, Master Harry! Will you not come to the garden and enjoy your birthday diner? We made nice things and ......all are already waiting for you....but if I may" The house elf added with a grin "You should done some clothes first. It is not wise to have diner outside with a bare torso and a bath towel only!"

  


Harry shook his head and dug into his wardrobe, fetching trouser, polo and sweater. When dressed, he devoured the stairs two by two. What the house elf had told him was true. They were already waiting in the garden!

  


He simply started with the first he got hold of. Livius got a bear hug and a happy „Thank you. I love the quill!" Then it was the turn of twin Lucius. Harry went on, hugging Delphine, Aurelian, Dumbledore, Gwenael, her husband Michel, the other kids and Myriam. Morigan his ‚lady-love' received a determined kiss and was held tie for a moment. The place next to her was empty, so he would come back after..............the last one.

  


Severus sat at the very end of the table, under a Belladonna tree. It was a place he fancied, when attending the diners in the Medieval Garden. Belladonna, poisoning and healing plant. Perhaps a place becoming a Potions Master?

  


Harry gave a small sigh. He could not hug Snape the same way he'd hugged all the others and the Headmaster. There was something inside the boy that discouraged him from such a gesture. Although some of the layers of ice between them had been broken by now, there was still an enormous amount of shyness and reserve. Harry opted for a simple but warm smile. 

  


Severus' obsidian eyes fixed the boy for an instant. It were not the habitual dark and unreadable pits, but thoughtful intelligent eyes with a hint of sadness. The young wizard dismissed the boy with a slight nod. All had been said and each understood the other.

  


Harry turned away and went to his place by Morigan's side. As soon as he was seated the elves served the first course. Albus Dumbledore gave him a wink before digging into a nice fresh salad with walnuts, cherry tomatoes and light raspberry vinegar dressing. Between two forks he addressed Morigan mockingly.

  


„There is a cute little charm from my Scottish Mountains that you should learn tonight, Dear!"

  


He helped himself to another fork full of salad and took a sip of wine. 

  


„Tonight it is the night of Lugh Lightborn in which spirits walk the land, making it an ideal time for charms and divining the future!" Then he recited in a mocking voice.

  


„Lady, Lady Lanners,   
Take your cloak about your head   
And fly away to Flanders   
Fly over moor and fly over mead   
Fly over living, fly over dead   
Fly ye east or fly ye west   
Fly to him that loves me best."

  


Morigan gave a sweet laugh and winked back at Albus. She was a witty young lady and good with words, too. Harry sat blushing like a strawberry by her side and tried to disappear in his plate of food.

  


„No need for charms or magic to figure this out, Professor Dumbledore!" Her small hand padded the arm of her table companion confidently. 

  


Harry sat blushing like a strawberry and tried to disappear in his plate of food.

  


The diner continued merrily and soon a most animate conversation filled the Medieval Garden. The house elves brought plates over plates. 

  


Severus sat in silence under his Belladonna tree. From time to time he took a small sip of wine, while his plates returned almost untouched to the kitchens. He knew that there was no use to try and eat for at least another day, until the after-effects of Voldemort's curses had vanished. Whatever consistent he'd try to swallow would come back immediately. He observed the others, but his mind was completely absent, wandering in other, less joyful fields then a birthday diner with a cake „Hungarian Horntail" that spit fire for desert. While the kids had been playing with the young unicorns and Mordred by the lakeside of the enchanted forest, he had not only retrieved unicorn horns from Hengist. He had a lengthy discussion with the old stallion that had given the core of his very wand.

  


Severus had explained his problem and his need for a specific ingredient, which could not be obtained by any conventional means. No apothecary or specialised dealer in potions' ingredients in all of Europe or on the British Isles sold the issue!

  


Hengist was a knowing old beast and he frequented the young Potions Master already since Genevieve had brought him a baby into the Enchanted Forest. The stallion was not only a powerful magic creature, he had also finely tuned senses and instincts. Having heard Severus request, he agreed without hesitating for a second.

  


The Potions Master had retrieved muggle veterinarian equipment from his black leather bag: A needle to draw blood, five hermetic 30 ml flasks apt to go into a centrifuge, alcohol, cotton and medical tape. 

  


After taking Hengist's blood and disposing the now filled flasks safely in a transport container in his leather bag, Severus had taken a set of transfusion needles. With a unicorn, even one you knew well it was always „Blood for Blood".

  


But Hengist had only shaken his mighty head. 

  


„It is not today that you can afford to lose any more blood, my friend!" the stallion had spoken with a soft voice. „The Evil One has already spilled too much of it, hasn't he?"

  


„Hengist had been right." Severus thought when refusing a serving of birthday cake to a tiny house elf. He had lost enough the night before during his first direct encounter after 13 years with Voldemort. It was a shame that the blood of the oldest unicorn of Brocéliande should be spoilt in a potion to stopper the decay of that bastard. Unicorn blood! Use it, when taken by force and through the killing of one of these creatures of the light and you condemn your soul and rot to pieces almost immediately. But the other side of the medal was the same substance, given in confidence and voluntarily, that could inhibit decay and delay death. Severus had decided to use one of the most precious ingredients of all simply to prevent a rotten piece of shit from rotting even more in order to buy time and destroy the demon.

  


„It would not be so sad, I would laugh at the irony of the situation!" The Potions Master quit the table and the Medieval Garden silently. Nobody seemed to be aware of his leaving.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	28. The Gathering

Thanks again for your reactions to my story! Please continue reviewing. Criticism or Flames are also welcome. I am thoroughly aware that by now this novel has almost left the realm of children's literature, but since the Dumbledore/Grindlewald confrontation in the 40ies had a political background with WW II, I suppose that a Dark Lord of some importance appearing in the Magic World must be forcefully associated with aggravate circumstances and a dictator/big,big trouble in the non-magic community; As we have fortunately no war situation directly touching Europe in the nineties and the most notorious menace is terrorism, I opted for this outlet. The facts I state in this respect are historically correct. You can check them out, if you are interested in more background info.

Griffon

* * *

Chapter 28 The Gathering

  
Lucius Malfoy felt a surge of relief. He had chosen the right muggle for his new job. 

It had taken him a day and a half of observing and spying on the man, then he knew that he lived alone in that smart house in the countryside east of West Malling, Kent. 

No wife, no children, no housekeeper or other nuisances. First he had spotted the chappie in a fashionable West End NightClub. He sat alone at a table, sipping a drink and looking absentmindedly at a pretty good show that would have merited more attention. 

This muggle was exactly the material the dark wizard needed: A loner, a stock exchange raider, financially well situated and obviously not attached to any company that would realise his prolonged absence. And as an add-on, the guy was about his age, so he would work without a hazardous Polyjuice Potion that could wear off in an inopportune moment. Although it would need a colour spell on his eyes and perhaps a radical shrinking of his billowing silver blond hair into a muggle business style haircut. 

He'd work this one easy and without noise. 

Malfoy slipped under his invisibility cloak and left his hideout in a small woodland adjacent to the victim's garden. He would not kill for now! Not that another „Aveda Kedavra" bothered him. Since he'd taken service with Lord Voldemort in his sixth year at Hogwarts at the tender age of 17, Lucius had cast this curse more often then he could remember. But he needed this muggle alive and in a relatively good shape to squeeze certain information on his job and background from him. 

With a malicious grin he tapped the small bottle of „Veritas Serum" in his pocket. The serum had been a development of Severus' for the Ministry of Magic. Snape had wriggled and croaked to do the job, but that old fool Dumbledore had put the poor man under solid pressure! 

Contrary to Lucius himself, Hogwarts Potions Master, former Death Eater, sent to Askaban without trial for a Dementor's Kiss and finally released for simple lack of proof that he had not acted under the „Imperius Curse" would not find any other job then teaching spoiled half-witted brats to boil tea water in a school dungeon, even if he'd apply for cleaning toilets in the „Leaky Cauldron" or sweep the streets of Hogsmead. 

Severus had a terrible reputation, no average wizard trusted him and there were even constant fights on the Hogwarts Board of Administration to give the ditty old bat a kick (Lucius and Dumbledore -for once united- habitually managed to prevent any voting on this subject through serious blackmailing of the other Board Members) and Severus had no other financial means then his job with that old fool Dumbledore and nowhere else to live then at the castle. 

He came from an old pureblood family. He was the last of their line. A manor that was more a ruin then a home existed in a small town in Sussex by the name of Snape. Severus had attended Hogwarts only for the last two years and never ever spoken about his family or parents. Lucius had never found out, who had taught him before coming for the sixth and the seventh year and to take his N.E.W.T.S, but he supposed either his parents or perhaps grand parents had taken care, for lack of financial means to buy school books, adequate robes or even a wand. 

The dark wizard still remembered that miserable, spello-taped piece of wood of Severus'. Nevertheless he managed to get out of Hogwarts second best student of the promotion 1977, second best only, because Snape had failed miserably in History of Magic and was hardly able to ride a broomstick without breaking his neck. 

He'd probably never had a broom, when a kid......to expensive for a impoverished pureblood family, whose last vestiges to past glory lay in a cultivate behaviour, excellent and slightly old-fashioned manners, style and education. Apparating without permit, while still underage was certainly less costly then a broom or even a connection to the Floo Network. And apparating Severus could.......like hell, with a precision of less than 1 m to target! That had been quite an achievement for a wizard of 16 years! This skill of his had been the first thing to attract Malfoy's attention to a shy, skinny kid with raven black hair that fell down to his hips, in old-fashioned black robes and a tame raven as his familiar......probably stolen from his nest and raised by Severus himself, because his relatives simply could not afford an owl or a cat for the boy.

Lucius shook his head with amusement: He knew the brewer of this delicious „Veritas Serum" by no for.......20 years, and he had not even a clue about his family past. Even today, Severus was too ashamed to speak of it. And this was the very reason, why he had allowed that old fool Dumbledore to bully him into the development of a potion that would give better results then old-fashioned torture methods with sheer physical force or a raised wand. 

The „Veritas Serum" had been created to question suspected followers of Lord Voldemort. A tiny little pheal with a transparent liquid had been the main reason that Askaban almost burst with prisoners on life or long-term sentences......................But tonight it would serve a better purpose! 

Lucius would force a bound and dunce muggle stock exchange raider to give away enough secrets to pass himself in that role. Then he'd dispose of the piece of mud and start an extensive travelling tour throughout Western Europe. He was happy! He had funds to collect; the money the Dark Lord wished to employ in order to subdue the weakest links in the chain of command of the Ministry of Magic, those that could be convinced to join the Dark Side in exchange of gold gallons. 

Voldemort had always believed in the power of financially corrupting wizards and muggles alike. It had often worked even better the a death menace or physical torture. Those the Dark Lord had bought during the seventies and who had not been caught during the terrible witch hunt that had followed his fall on Halloween Night 1981 were still the most trustworthy. 

Lucius had never failed to substitute after 1981 with his own money, what Voldemort had been paying before to a ‚client'. These corrupted ones had been first at his master's service, then at his and now they were still alive and kicking and would continue to service the Dark.

„Alomohora" The dark wizard pointed his wand at a muggle security locks system. Four locks sprung open immediately and admitted him to a stylish entry, decorated with some very avantgardist paintings. 

He heard sounds upstairs. Music, voices, bangs and cracks; Malfoy supposed that the noise was generated by an „enervated" muggle television set. That was perfect, it would cover each and every potential sound. He decided to take the stairs in search for his victim. 

When Malfoy reached finally the third and last room on the first floor of the house, he grinned with delight. It would be so easy! A half-drunken bottle of red wine, a small rest of a pizza, snorting..........the stock exchange chappie lay fast asleep on his bed.

It took the dark wizard less then three minutes to hex, bind and drug Robert G.Bell. 

When the muggle recovered his senses, he stared with sheer terror in his eyes at the aggressor: Hip-length silver blond hair held in a ‚Lavaliere' tail by a black velvet band, light blue piercing eyes, billowing silver grey robes trimmed with fur, a stick pointing at him..............Robert G.Bell was convinced that he'd fallen into the hands of a sadist, madman and killer from the first impression he won of his opposite. 

When the night gave way to the early morning sun he knew, he'd been right in his appreciation of the odd character that had bound and drugged him. In a lightning of green the muggle took his knowledge of Lucius Malfoy with him to a cold and lonely grave!

Only three hours later, at eight o'clock on August 1st, 1995 a slim, tall man, dressed in pinstripe grey business suit and carrying a black leather attaché case left his house as usual to catch the train for London at Maidstone Railway Station. The sun shone and ensured a pleasant walk of hardly fifteen minutes. None of the neighbours of the late Robert G.Bell doubted, that it was the stock exchange raider himself who went of to work. 

The Dark Lord had summoned Walden McNair to his windy, rainy hideout. The hideous man, who always carried an axe at his side did not seem to mind the terrible weather and he did not dare to question Voldemort's decision to treat with him out in the open air. Perhaps the Master did not want that rat-man Pettigrew overhear what they had to discuss, or he simply had a liking for rain and storm................;what would behave the most powerful dark wizard on this world better then the cruel elements and the sheer force of Nature?

„Now, Walden you will contact for me the Dementors in a most discreet way. I am fully aware that they serve the Ministry of Magic only half-heartedly. My obedient servant Cornelius Fudge had been working that way already for a while. He will facilitate your contact with the leader of the grouping that guards Askaban."

„My Lord," Walden asked in a subservient, slimy voice, bowing his head and shoulders to give the impression that he was less tall then Voldemort „I will do as you command and you shall be satisfied with my work. I have already a most interesting merchandise to trade with them in exchange for turning their backs at your faithful servants still held on the Prison Island!"

„So what do you intend to give them for the Lestranges?", Voldemort asked with interest. He had a particular liking for McNair. The man was the cruellest sadist he'd ever met and during his years of researching immortality, during the late fifties and early sixties he'd met quite a few impressive buggers. He did not just kill; he relished in torturing his victims to death......slowly and most painfully! It was always great joy to see McNair practice.

The Death Eater spoke softly: „I have hunted down muggle children for a while now. I should have a stock of about fifty of these urchins in the dungeons of my property by now. The Dementors will be extremely pleased to receive children. They have so many happy thoughts and I made sure, not to take rubbish from the streets, but good breeds from better families. It is holiday season......and actually so easy to catch kids!"

„Excellent!" the Dark Lord replied „Now find me two wizards nobody would miss. We have to substitute the Lestranges for a short moment at Askaban, in order to initiate ‚their deaths'. I do not wish to raise any suspicion or expose Fudge for the moment. You may also inform the Dementors, that as soon as my plan goes into its first phase, they shall openly return themselves against the Light. They must release my followers and foot soldiers unharmed from Askaban, but they may take the lives of all those who do not swear allegiance to Voldemort. As soon as my old troops are back at work they shall receive my compensation! All prisoners we make will be given to them to be sucked of their soul in order to strengthen the Dementors' ranks."

„My Lord!" McNair almost choked with surprise „ You are too good with me. This idea is absolutely brilliant. Never ever the Dementors can resist such a good offer." He bowed deep, went to his knees and kissed devotedly the rim of Voldemort's robes. Although Walden McNair was a though piece of work with hardly any happy thought, he had not looked forward to this mission. An encounter with the shadow soulless creatures that kept guard over Askaban and served as executioners for the Ministry of Magic made even a sadist shudder. 

Voldemort gave sign to McNair to release his robes. Then he strode over to the edge of the cliff on which Lucius Malfoy's inherited property stood. He spread out his arms, as if they were eagle's wings in a gesture of triumph.

Cornelius Fudge felt slightly uneasy. It were neither the dervish Noureddine Ben Kad'r nor the nameless frightening dschijn, who made the Minister of Magic shaky. It was more a question of where they had decided to meet this time to ensure secrecy and discretion: The safe house of the G.I.A.(1), an Algerian fundamentalist terrorist group with an impressive history of death and destruction in their own homeland, but also on European soil -basically in France - was hidden in one of the lowliest and most downtrodden parts of London. 

Fudge had been obliged to walk, in order not to attract attention and Nourredine Ben Kad'r had warned him against any use of magic. The dervish and Islamic fundamentalist strategist of acts of terror knew very well that he was under close observation by all non-magic secret intelligence services of Western Europe, the Russian FSB and probably even the US CIA. 

He had no intention to rise the suspicion of these professionals as to the new source of financing he'd discovered thanks to his own magical skills and contacts. And he most certainly did not want his own master Antar Zouabri to grow suspicious: He was already for a while fed up with his condescend attitude towards the enemies of the Faith, just in order to gain support in becoming the ‚emir' of the GIA. 

Instead of fighting their war against those who did not see the truth of the Islam, Antar Zouabri had rescinded to negotiating. He had grown soft, and they were not only secretly talking with certain members of the Algerian government and security forces, who had sympathies with the cause, they also spoke sometimes with the American stray dog and his European underlings. They even went soft on that Jewish brood and Israel. The dervish had problems to remember when they'd kidnapped their last muggle aircraft in order to blow it to pieces with all passengers on board in a bloody show-off of power and terror since that successful operation of 1994. All Zouabri and his hit men were doing, was to massacre Algerians. Nourredine Ben Kad'r had therefore secretly supported a new group of alienated former members of the GIA, the GSPC(2). He intended to help the GSPC to counterbalance the GIA. The most important step in this game would be the killing of the GIA's ‚emir' Antar Zouabri!

„ I am authorised to propose as a first down paiment for your ‚co-operative efforts' the sum of 2 Mio. U$, but my ‚partners' wish to remain anonymous for the moment. The payment can be either effectuated on a Gringotts Wizarding Bank vault here in the UK or on a Swiss muffle bank account of your choice!" Cornelius Fudge explained the proceedings to the fundamentalist dervish. Voldemort's instructions had been very clear. He was unwilling to provide the deliverables in cash form, as he had never worked with North African associates. They were interesting, violent at will and resourceful, when it came to the choice of different varieties of terror and torment, but they had also a reputation to double-cross at will, as soon as they received untraceable financial resources.

„Well!" Ben Kad'r gave a deep sigh. He knew that no way to obtain cash from this source existed for the moment. He first needed to prove his reliability. The next step should be cash transfer hand to hand „I prefer a bank account in Switzerland! This saves us the transfer from gallons into muggle currency. I must nevertheless press upon your ‚associate' to provide us with the specific warfare agents I requested earlier from you. It is impossible to use conventional stuff from the spectrum of muggle BC(3) agents. I do not know to which extent you are aware of developments in the non-magic world?"

Fudge shook his head. Apart knowing the usefulness of Swiss bank accounts for storing there his own revenues related to Malfoy and Voldemort, he was not into muggle military issues.

„Please, explain Mr. Ben Kad'r. I want to report in detail to my associate. He has to brief in our expert."

„For the operation we intend to commence in September, the agent we use has to be undetectable for spectral analysis. This is a highly sophisticated muggle system, which will be employed by our target on all-incoming mail and parcels. A postal envoy is at this time our sole chance to approach the objective. He is extremely suspicious, having practised survival against attacks upon his life for....................at least 20 years now." The fundamentalist dervish thought that Zouabri would better die slowly and over a certain time frame in order to ensure a consequent erosion of the GIA basis.

Fudge nodded:" We will see to it, that you receive such an agent. My ‚associates' will brief in our scientist and you get the deliverable not later then mid-August." Fudge prayed that he had not made too much of a promise for his own life's sake. He did not want to end up executed by Voldemort for having failed a mission. Fudge wanted to be re-elected, wanted to keep his power as the Minister of Magic of the British Isles, yearned the support of the Dark Lord in the pursuit of his pre-electoral campaign and later on, for the elections that were to take place in less then nine months, by the end of March 1996. 

Although the Minister of Magic loathed that bastard Severus Snape and could not make up his mind concerning the man's true loyalties, he was fully aware of his reputation as a Potions Master. 

Since he reappeared from nowhere at Hogwarts in September 1985 for the beginning of the new school term, Snape had engaged in a frantic academic work, publishing in all reputed Alchimist and Potions Journals including the US editions. There was no way to avoid the greasy bat even for one single months, when you subscribed to the British „Stonehenge Potions and Alchimist Almanac", the journal of the ancient and esteemed Wizards' Academy of Learning, based in Oxford. Hardly a conference could take place in his ‚realm' without having Snape on top of the speakers list. His official research centred around cures, antidotes and healing potions. He had already fancied these subjects in his doctoral thesis, submitted to a committee of most eminent Potions Masters hardly three months after his surprise entry into Dumbledore's teaching staff. His professorial took him only five more years. Fudge had been fully aware of the fact that Dumbledore -for the sheer glory of Hogwarts- had closed his eyes on the sinister experiments that had given Snape his title for his 30ies birthday. Albus had been a professor at twenty-nine already. He wanted to stay the miracle of learning. But he relished in having the second miracle on his staff, too. His own Ministry of Magic was still drawing profit from „Veritas Serum" and the notorious „Imperio Draught", a potions substitute for the famous unforgivable curse that made act a victim according to the perpetrator's will. 

The Ministry Aurors employed it, when they would not obtain Wizarding Court order to subject a criminal to the curse itself in order to clarify a case......and it was top secret. Its existence had never ever made the way out off the Ministry's dungeons into the bright daylight of Britain's Magic community. The greasy bat had submitted his work to a close audience with no public admitted and no follow-on publication.

Fudge could only imagine that it were these well-known competencies of Hogwarts Potions Master that had spared his life with the Dark Lord during the last Death Eaters meeting. A Death Eater's refusal to reply immediately to the Dark Lord's call had been instant condemnation to Death in the olden days.......no questions asked, no excuses admitted!

The Minister of Magic fixed Ben Kad'r:" You will have your undetectable agent as promised. But as soon as the exchange has been made, my ‚associates' expect that you act! We need a large-scale, impressive and public bloodshed in Central London!"

The French DGSE Team that was hiding in the downtrodden storage facility opposite to Nourredine Ben Kad'r's favourite meeting place, a G.I.A. safe-house hidden on the second floor of a cheap brothel for a mostly North African clientele was profoundly confused with the tape record. One of their men, himself of North African origin and therefore undetectable in this environment, had managed to place several emitters in the safe house some days ago. When Ben Kad'r reappeared in the field of vision of their cameras with that translucid consistency they had already photographed once, they had decided to tap conversation at hazard. The man he met was a complete unknown for their services, but they had been instructed by the highest level of their hierarchy at home to keep him under close surveillance and report back immediately. The film, the photos and the tapes of this afternoon's work would be on their way to Paris within the hour.

„Perhaps one day somebody will tell us, what those chaps are talking about!" one of the French intelligence officers moaned, while stretching his aching muscles.

„Honestly, I have never ever listened to bigger bullshit then this conspirative conversation!" Replied his colleague. „Hope we are not loosing our time on some megalomaniac who's gone nuts!"

* * *

1. GIA = Armed Islamic Group is an Islamic extremist group. The GIA aims to overthrow the secular Algerian regime and replace it with an Islamic state. The GIA began its violent activities in early 1992 after Algiers voided the victory of the Islamic Salvation Front (FIS)--the largest Islamic party--in the first round of December 1991 legislative elections. 

GIA Activities   
Frequent attacks against regime targets--particularly security personnel and government officials--civilians, journalists, teachers, and foreign residents. Since announcing its terrorist campaign against foreigners living in Algeria in September 1993, the GIA has killed about 100 expatriate men and women--mostly Europeans--in the country. The GIA uses assassinations and bombings, including car bombs, and it is known to favour kidnapping victims and slitting their throats. The GIA hijacked an Air France flight to Algiers in December 1994, and suspicions centred on the group for a series of bombings in France in 1995 and one there in late 1996. 

Strength   
Unknown, probably several hundred to several thousand. 

Location/Area of Operation   
Algeria. 

External Aid   
Algerian expatriates, many of whom reside in Western Europe, provide some financial and logistic support. In addition, the Algerian Government has accused Iran and Sudan of supporting Algerian extremists, and severed diplomatic relations with Iran in March 1993. 

2. Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (known by the French acronym GSPC). Now considered one of Algeria''s biggest threats, the GSPC says it limits its attacks to military and government targets, including police convoys. It was only in May 2002, that the US State Department added the GSPC to its list of foreign terrorist groups, arguing that the GSPC has in fact attacked civilians as well. U.S. officials. The US also accuse the group of having links to North African terrorists sympathetic to al-Qaeda.

3. Abreviation for „Biological and Chemical" 


	29. Opening the Game

Chapter 29 Opening the Game

The French Minister of Magic closed his eyes in silent despair. He had listened to the tape twice to be sure, he understood.

„Claude, who else has been informed on the contents of this intelligence?" He asked General Fillon, who sat bleary-eyed and unshaven on a burgundy red ‚Voltaire' in Patrick Delacour de Saint Germain's study at the Minister's family residence at Soissons. A thoughtful house elf had placed a double expresso coffee in front of the tired soldier. 

„Not even the Prime Minister, Patrick!" Fillon gave a deep sigh. The DGSE Team had transmitted the recorded conversation by encrypted mobile directly from the very spot at Southwark opposite Nouredine Ben Kad'r's hideout. They had also a couple of pretty good shots, showing the well-known terrorist, that Fudge man and that transparent, dim spectral substance. He had not even bothered to pass it on to the analysts. Having worked for the last fifteen years with ‚The Other Side' had given him a good feeling for ‚mysteries'. The Capitaine Rogue de la Bédoyere was not the only ‚queer' collaborator he commanded in his service. France, magic and non-magic was on a share mood in intelligence and state security since the ascendancy to power of a Corsican wizard by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte. Even the dunce regimes of Louis XVIII. and his bigot brother and successor Charles X. had been able to understand the benefits of co-operation when it came to keep the ‚grandeur' of France against the odds of the European Concert of Powers.

„I already recalled Damien Tremayne from Damascus. He has orders to apparate immediately at ‚La Piscine'(1). Yvan Denez Prigent will turn up at Montmuran tomorrow anyhow, so I did not bother to owl him and Alain Genty is on a NATO exercise in Germany. They'll send him in as soon as he turns up at Geilenkirchen Airbase. I'd rather have the team together, even if you and I should decide not to send them out."

Delacour de Saint Germain shook his head in exasperation. The words of his British counterpart were quite clear. He was speaking about providing an agent -a poison- to an Islamic terrorist and dervish in order to make the malefactor initiate an act of horror. It was of no importance that the British Minister of Magic was corrupted and had turned to Voldemort and the side of Darkness. What counted here, was to prevent bloodshed.

„Claude, I believe it would be prudent to remix this thing and keep a copy you could pass over to your MI5 counterparts.............just in case we decide to give it a go. In the meantime the team down there must not lose track of Ben Kad'r."

General Claude Fillon nodded his approval. 

„And I will go immediately to Brittany and have a serious discussion with Severus! Although I concede that it may be clever to let Ben Kad'r run as a bait for this Fudge Man, any allegations to undetectable agents in exchange for large-scale, impressive and public bloodshed in Central London must be countered. If they start in England, they'll continue at soonest over here and I do not intent to find ourselves in a near mass-hysteria in metropolitan Paris because the G.I.A. tries to figure out a leadership problem by ways of bombing." 

Delacour de Saint Germain folded his hands under his chin and sunk himself into a moment of reflection before replying to Claude Fillion. When he'd finally made up his decision, he spoke.

„Claude, we must try and take in Ben Kad'r and the dshjin alive and in good shape! It will be worth questioning them to learn about the exact plans of the British Dark Lord. There are methods to make them talk to us……in detail and in length! I think that we could understand at least part of that demon's plan and then act accordingly. If the British Ministry of Magic is rotten at the top, we must simply work with Dumbledore and his people. They once had the same problem with us: When Grindlewald perverted the French Ministry of Magic into collaborating with him, one of Fudge's predecessors was wise enough to work with the resistance and it turned right in the end. Knowing Dumbledore for ages, I firmly believe that today I shall have the courage to act likewise and side with him..............."

Fillon smiled.

„Sev will howl like an enraged wolf!" The general thought about how difficult it would be to catch the Fudge man again accidentally…..and if he lost his contact with the G.I.A. dervish? Who could be the next terrorist or criminal he'd get in touch with to initiate non-magic bloodshed in the non-magic world? Obviously they had money at their dosposition to buy co-operation from odd players on the scene. Fillon made a mental note to have his people run some checks on suspicious money transfers, cash withdrawals and else and to reach out to their counterparts in the other countries of the European Union, too. 

„Sev will shut up and understand. He's his father's son........and he's wise enough not to spoil a hell of an occasion to give a good shake to this demon's plans. He will need time to figure Voldemort out. Retrieving an ally from the chessboard is a way to gamble for time...............and perhaps........!" Delacour hoped that he was right and that they had time to understand their adversary better before Voldemort would be able to engage in actions on a larger scale. His reign of terror over the British Isles during the 1970ies and early 1980ies was still a lively memory for the French Minister of Magic. They had some spill over, when persecuted wizard families fled to France, Spain, Italy and Germany and Voldemort released killer commandos on them. 

„Two o'clock in the morning!" Severus opened the door to his rooms with a little charm that would prevent the old piece of wood to squeal and to wake up Myriam. 

He did not regret his decision to leave Harry's birthday diner for his mother's lab. The stopper to Voldemort's decay had been trotting in his head since the fiery discussion with Dumbledore. 

Basically it was nothing more then a very strong healing potion with the additional ingredient of Unicorn blood. But the blood had been treated with some handy muggle technology. He had not been for nothing into biochemistry for three years fulltime. The remedy was ready and he could now take his thoughts to the upcoming ‚gorseed' and the issue of using the Dark Lord's weak spot. 

The young wizard felt very much tempted to consider Voldemort's obsession with Harry of less importance then his muggle-style desires for power, control and money. Classically, a lust for power, control and money always led someone to go beyond the limits of glory. 

There was a muggle historian's theory, that from success came decline, as soon as the equilibrium between the size of an empire and the means to control over it were lost. He remembered fairly well what the US scholar Paul Kennedy had discovered in his much acclaimed study „The Rise and Fall of Great Powers", although it was perhaps two or three years since he'd read the book. 

Perhaps the best way to get rid of the evil manifestation of one Tom Marvolo Riddle was to allow him to rebuild his empire for a while, until it extended to a point where he'd lose control. Loosing control over those he considered his followers? 

Only very small entities - close-knit structures - managed to live without constant fears of betrayal.......the Order was the very best example of this! But an organisation like Voldemort's could never pretend to social, cultural and family bonds, as could those of the blood.

„Severus, why don't you simply get yourself a shower and come to bed?" Myriam's mocking voice woke him from his theoretical approach to the particular weakness of his demon. „And you could share your thoughts with me, if you wish!"

„As you command, My Lady! I shall be your most obedient servant in an instant!" 

The young wizard replied with the same mocking voice. His lips were twisted in a smile; his black eyes sparkled lively. The ‚Smell-Nice' draught securely stored in his mother's lab, an idea as to were Voldemort could be tackled in his hand and hardly any benumbing pain left in his body made a lot for the good humour he displayed. He flicked his hand at a chandelier and a soft light added to the moon outside. Unbuttoning his shirt, he went over to the bed to place a gentle kiss on Myriam's forehead.

„How's the diner been going?"

„Nicely! The kid was really happy. He told me that this was the very first time in his life that he was not alone on a birthday of his.....locked up in his room and ignored. The funny thing was, when he told me that he had forgotten his own birthday, because he felt so comfortable here at Montmuran......How did he turn that sentence? Yes! He said, he felt that nobody considered him a burden or a nuisance. Strange phrasing for a 15-years old boy, isn't it?"

„Did I ever tell you how his non-magic relatives treated him, when he was a three-years old?"

Severus black eyes carried a saddened expression. He would have preferred to get Potter into Hogwarts rotten-spoiled by an overtly enthusiastic family that tried to make up for the loss of his mother and father with too much care and too much loving! Not this unstable, psychologically abused kid who'd sell his soul for a hint of interest in his person, he'd seen four years ago at the Sorting Ceremony. And the complacent attitude of Dumbledore, McGonagall and the rest of the staff towards Harry did not make things easier. Ten months a year the boy was allowed to run havoc and indulge in breaking rules, swindling, mystifying and cheating without ever getting his limits clearly set……ten months a year nobody was willing to explain to him the difference between 'right' and 'wrong'. 

The young wizard shook his head in a small fit of helplessness. He should not dare and criticize Albus, Minerva and the others for over-indulging Harry. His method of barking, howling and putting the boy in place whenever he gives only an 'air of mischief' or looks the wrong way does not bring better results, neither! 

The rotten-spoiled ones like Draco Malfoy were easier to handle and easier to bring out of harms way. If he would have stated this aloud to anybody but Albus Dumbledore they would not have believed him a single word, but it was simply the truth.

Draco's father was the worst of darkest wizard he'd ever run into apart Voldemort himself, but Lucius' sense of family was as exaggerate as was his sense of evil. Although that bastard would kill, torture and even rape innocent people without a second thought, when it came to Narcissa and his child he was...................the most loyal, the most caring and the most loving person Severus had ever seen. 

So whenever young Malfoy was on the way to get himself into trouble and deep shit, a simple reminder of „Draco, you'll hurt your father and mother!" from the Head of Slytherin House was enough to rein the kid in. And when he added „....and I'd feel very upset too!" he had the boy almost in tears, pleading forgiveness and swearing, he'd never do it again. Slytherin! Bad, dark, nasty and rotten.....but with a sense of family. 

Perhaps this would be something that Harry could figure out by the end of the summer holiday for himself…..the sense of family! There was no way to force the kid, but they gave him every possibility -if he chose so- to find substitution for parentage he had not. 

Myriam was gently caressing Severus. He'd cuddled one arm around her shoulders, making her rest against his side while his free hand stroke that long, silky brown mane of hers. He enjoyed these moments of peace with her, no matter if they had their friendship, their passion or their sex phase going on. It did not matter probably!

All three elements of this relationship held equal importance to the two of them. He could not imagine they'd be good lovers if they weren't good friends, too. Friendship meant trust and it needed a hell of a lot of trust to expose one's vulnerabilities and deepest feelings to someone else. The passion they had for each other made the two other components more interesting. It was equally satisfying to have a passionate discussion or passionate sex with Myriam. Both made him shiver with delight and yarn for more. 

Sometimes Severus asked himself, why -apart protecting her from harm that may come through his evil frequentations-he never ever dared to speak of love. He'd never ever yearned for anybody else in his live but her. Apart under the Fires of Beltaine, he'd never ever shared his bed with another woman and although most of their kind tended to enjoy the 'libertinage' of the rite, for him it had been mostly obligation to the Order and observation of his vows. Was it the fact that he was a mortal man, while Myriam was a fairy? Was it fear that History would repeat itself? When Mhyrridin had spoken the fatal word to Viviane one thousand years ago, Viviane had her go at him almost immediately.

Myriam just like Viviane was born at the Château de Comper, in the north of their forest. There Viviane had enjoyed an idyllic life until she met Merlin. Falling for his charm and his magical powers, she soon became as expert as he in all these things. The interest of King Arthur's counsellor had grown wings on the young fairy who was still an apprentice to power. 

Merlin, realising soon that Viviane was his equal in everything, fell madly in love with her, and offered her a wonderful castle on the very spot where today Montmuran stood strong and proud. 

It did not take long before the relationship between the druid and the fairy showed off in the form of a child who was to become Lancelot of the Lake, the famous knight of the Round Table. 

For a long time, Merlin and Viviane lived happily in love, until the day when Merlin explained to his beloved how a man could be held securely imprisoned in air. She proceeded to do just this while Merlin was sound asleep and with this very trick prevented the druid from ageing and dying. 

Viviane's selfish act brought the wrath of Anu on both of them: This wrath took the form of Lancelot of the Lake falling in love with Guinhumara, the spouse of King Arthur. Their forbidden love became the bane of the Round Table and its destruction, leaving Guinhumara to rot in a monastery to the end of her life, while Lancelot perished on his quest for redemption, the quest of the Holy Grail. 

  
„At least that hot blooded half-devil Lancelot had the good idea to father a legal child with his legal spouse before going completely nuts over Guinhumara and the Grail!" Severus said to himself „Or we'd never come into existence, leaving poor Mhyriddin forever caught in his sleep in the forest of Brocéliande. So much for fairy-druid relationship and love!" 

Although he had to admit honestly that Myriam was pretty much different from her illustrious ancestor Viviane: First and foremost, she had not been a young fairy apprentice in search of her own powers, when she decided one night that his innocence had to come to an end!   


In their world, males and especially the apprentices of Avalon who had not gone through the stone ring and an initiation where considered disposable and substitutable canon fodder until they had a raven mark between their eyebrows. It was a law of nature that only half of them made it through the ring and back into their bodies anyhow and Severus had not been any different from the other males available at Avalon then. 

His only advantage of being the accepted heir to Merlin had been his tutors: While the other young ones were each with three fully trained and initiated druids, he had been apprentice to his two predecessors and the Old One himself. 

But he had not proven his power then by accepting the trial of the Blood Oath, the initiation of the Heir. And for this very reason he had not been in any position to refuse the wishes of a daughter of Avalon who'd almost finished her training and would return to the world soon. 

He could still remember this first night in each and every detail. When she had requested him to come, he'd been completely overawed....... trembling and shaky! 

He had not been able to understand why she would not chose from the older apprentices, who'd cross the stone ring soon and who knew what was expected of them. 

Well, she'd always been nice with him, not brushing him off when he came her way or putting him into his place when by sheer absentmindedness he dared to lift his head and look at her. But that was not reason enough to believe she'd fancy him. 

„You have been quite a piece of work, Severus." Myriam lay comfortably cuddled in his lap, observing his features in the soft candlelight. It did not need any mindreading to know exactly what was going on in his head. „But you have been worth the effort!"

„Thank you." He replied a little bit awkward. Although their relationship over the years had grown into something more egalitarian, he was constantly aware of the fact that her powers were far beyond everything he would ever be able to muster. 

„What are you going to do with Voldemort?" 

He moaned at her mentioning the name of the Dark Lord. Fairies where creatures of Light! They were to be protected at any cost from abominations such as this ..........monster. When he'd come back from his last war and from Askaban he had not allowed her to touch him for quite a while from sheer fear she could be soiled with the evil he'd been exposed to. There were still moments when he'd retract instinctively, because he would not allow her to come in contact with his dark side. 

„Severus, could you please stop to treat me as if I were a basket full of eggs!" Myriam gave him a disapproving glance. „Could you also stop being your own worst enemy!"

The young wizard gave a deep sigh. 

„I am not, Myriam! It is only......I wish.....well!"

„Severus. Speak. Clearly."

„I have modified the unicorn blood in the potion! In fact, I have substituted blood for plasma. Meaning that each time he needs the stuff to smell nice and look good, he'll get a remix. He'll be unable to keep in good shape without my regular ministrations and this will buy us time to find a way to catch and bind him." The dark black pits of the Potions Master sparkled in the soft candlelight. He'd talk Voldemort into a reverse rite from the „Blood-Flesh-Bone", telling him that it would need an entirely new approach to regaining his body. If Voldemort could be convinced for one minute only to get back into the feeble, dependent creature he were before the cemetery and Pettigrew..............a creature unable to handle a wand........it would not even need to bind him. .........."

Myriam continued to caress him slowly; There was not a lot of naked skin between the bandages that covered the reopened scars on his back, but it was sufficient for her for the moment. She slid her hand over his cheek, down his neck and along the line of the clavicle that Genevieve had fixed so skilfully some twenty-four hours earlier. She felt him give a short painful breath when her fingertips touched the breaking point, but he did not retract from her contact. Even his eyes had not blinked. So much for the trust between a fairy and a druid!

„Sev, bless your innocence but put yourself into that Dark One's skin! Would you agree to skip a rotting, stinking and wand-waving body for the sheer expectation of getting something better back if you take the risk?"

Snape gently stroke her long silky hair. His lips placed slight kisses on Myriam's forehead, her eyes, her mouth, her breasts. He was neither naive nor a fool. He was as calculating as he could be under the given circumstances and even a one percent chance in exchange for two hours of efforts in a potions lab was worth the try; He'd find something better for Voldemort, he'd go for it immediately and without second thought, but this night, this very moment the lab centrifuge of his mother had been an option and he'd used it.........................His lips brushed again over Myriam's forehead and eyes.

„Go to Hell, Voldemort!" A soft, silky voice spoke inside his head. The Dark One would not interfere with his life any more. He was just a job! A job that had to be done: Clean! His life was in this room, on this bed, under these sheets. He'd not speak the fatal words, but he'd show her. Gently his free hand brushed the lace of her night-gown from her shoulders. He lifted her body with ease to make the cream colour fine fabric go entirely and instead of bothering with undressing himself he muttered a spell. Another spell dimmed the chandelles. 

Myriam shivered with delight. Only the rising sun would announce the end of the Lugnashad. Another three hours left ............................

1. Headquarters of the French Foreign Intelligence Service in Paris 


	30. Fame in a Bottle

Chapter 30 Fame in a Bottle

Harry was utterly surprised! 

He had already seen a good deal of the fortress with Geneviève and Aurelian. Morigan and her mum Amalthea had also shown parts of the giant construction to him, explaining the history of its construction and the mix of styles covering almost six centuries of architecture. 

Finally he had even gone for several nightly ,sneak around' to visit Montmuran's extensive dungeons, the old prison cells, a nicely restored but gory torture chamber (which was open to the general public from time to time) and parts of the foundation works, which could be dated back to the first large-scale Norse invasion of Brittany around 400 BC. These special visits had been 'organised' by Gwenael's twins Lucius and Livius. 

The two boys of sixteen where glorious pranksters and mischief-makers in a pure, very un-Snapelike Weasley tradition and they had become good friends with Harry. 

But to see that Geneviève and Aurélian were able to host so easily almost a hundred guests within the fortress had been beyond the imagination of ,The-Boy-who-Lived'. 

Well, at least the mass arrival was a logic explanation for the frantic activities of the house elves during the last few days. He had not dared to believe that his birthday diner -also lavishly set- had been such a burden on the tiny creatures as to whisk him almost out of the kitchens, when he'd come down for a snack and a glass of milk. 

„Just help yourself, Master Harry! We are too busy right now to take care of you." 

This was the type of vocabulary that did not even fit liberated and liberal French house elves in their normal state of mind.

„That is kind of a family reunion!" 

Harry had the excited explanation he got from Livius and Lucius a bit earlier in the morning, when a massive arrival of magic folks streamed over the pont-levis through the main gate and into the gardens. The ,pont-levis' was the only spot were the apparition wards of Montmuran could be lifted easily.

„You'll see! The next couple of days will be absolutely cool, because the grown ups are so occupied with their own business, that we can run wild at will.........and on the week-end we'll be off to Lorient for the Interceltic Festival. Three days and two nights to run even wilder." They had explained cryptically to Harry. 

The boy had grown used to the enormous quantity of family members his Potions Master was able to produce, since they had arrived at Montmuran a months ago. The so-called ,family reunion' did not intrigue him. 

Why shouldn't Severus, with 10 living siblings, their partners, spouses, children and etc. already around on the spot, have even more Snape-like relatives discarded all over France and who'd decide at once to invade the fortress for holidays or a weekend? 

He had therefore been much more inquisitive about the Lorient Festival than about all those long-haired people in billowing robes, who carried staffs, harps and nicely shrunk travel bags.

Harry shock politely hands with an elderly gentleman with a light grey curly mane coming down to his hips. His beard outmatched Albus Dumbledore's easily. A witch about the same age, who carried a carefully wrapped harp under her arm, accompanied him. She smiled at young Potter. 

The two had apparated on the ,pont-levis' only moments before, just when Harry was on his way to double-cross Hadrian, the Snape-cousin who would enter the military academy St.Cyr after holidays. Hadrian had flown his broom in such an adventurous manner around the Western Tower that Harry decided to mystify him, taking the low flight line through the Main Gate and along the outer walls. Anyhow the ,Golden Snitch' had been invisible for most of the last thirty minutes of their Quidditch game with the whole property of Montmuran as their playground. When the old wizard and his companion apparated on the ,pont-levis', Harry had just enough time to pull emergency brakes not to ride them over in his pursuit of the sly opponent.

„I suppose you are Harry!" 

The elderly witch said warmly, stretching out her hand to him. 

„I am Nol'wen and this is my husband Jean-Paul and also I admit, your eyes are younger then mine,I can ensure you that you must take off immediately..............if you do not see the Snitch. I see it and it is right over the oak tree there!"

Potter had just enough time to acknowledge the kind witch's greeting and Quidditch hint with a polite bow of his head. Then he gave a good kick with the left foot and his Nimbus 2000 took off in a dangerous manoeuvre called ,The Candle'. Hadrian had taken the direction of that tree when he'd last seen him. The boy had given up to wonder, why everybody knew who he was. He supposed simply, the whole extensive family of Snape had been informed that he'd spend his holidays in Brittany.

More brooms were speeding in high-risk acrobatics over the fortress and the grounds. To allow all children to play, the two teams they easily formed where not exactly according to the rules of the popular game, but nobody cared a damn about it. Since there were no official goals, Morigan had simply charmed two poor poplar trees into these rewarding but dangerous functions. Thanks to her nice spell work a whole bunch of deadly annoyed birds were putting additional spice into Quidditch. They flew constantly formation, where they should not be, handicapping the players of both teams alike.

Harry heard a cry of victory. He speeded his Nimbus towards the noise. Livius and Lucius -twins had simply to work as badgers- hit in a perfectly co-ordinate manner which was proof of their constantly playing these positions on the Beaubaxtons School team since their second year. Hadrian ducked under the bludger. He turned his broom upside down. His hands were off the stick and stretched out in front of him. Harry saw the Snitch, too. 

He spurred his broom over another group of guests that arrived on the ,pont-levis'. They'd obviously taken a port-key. The young witch had only just the time to bark after her two elder off-springs. 

„You're careful with these brooms of yours!" 

Then she clasped the hand of the youngest offspring who motioned excitedly the flyers a bit firmer. 

„No, no, no. You are still to tiny for such a rough game." 

Lucius and Livius, who were now fiercely protecting Harry against an enemy bludger did some amazing air stunts.

Patrick Delacour de Saint Germain stepped out of the chimney into the vast library of Montmuran. He was happy that their express falcon had made it on time to allow for a floo connection between his place at Soissons, east of Paris and Montmuran in the heart of Brittany. 

He'd rather not apparated with General Claude Fillon as a parcel, considering Claude's constantly feeling sick after such a journey. Not even fifteen years of constant working with the magic community of France had ridded the general of his travel ills.

Fillon followed Delacour closely through the flames. He gave a tremendous sigh of relieve, when he felt the firm grounds of wooden parquet floor under his feet. Although he admitted that the various magic travel moods he had experienced over the years where speedy and practical, he still found it stressful to throw a handful of powder into a blazing fire, cry out a destination and then be literally sucked through dust and ashes until the floo network would spit out a dirty and disoriented voyager at some faraway place. Since Claude had not slept for the last 48 hours and had neither found time for a shower and a change, nor for eating anything more consistent then sandwiches, he hoped for a bit of rest and a hospitable room at the fortress of the Dukes of Brittany, before entering the core of the subject with all invitees of this emergency meeting.

The last traveller stepped out of the chimney. He looked even more dishevelled than General Fillon. He was in his mid-thirties, lean and tall and sported a long dark brown ponytail and a terribly tired and worn face. As soon as he was out of the fire he started to shiver and also his complexion was dark brown from sunshine; there was paleness about the man that was frightening.

Severus acknowledged the arrival of his commanding officer General Claude Fillon and the Minister of Magic with a short nod. Then he stepped over to the fagged and worn young wizard and handed him a warm sweater.

„Long-distance apparating is shit, isn't it?"

Damien Tremayne took the cloth and buried his shivering body in the warm wool immediately.

„I'd kill for a bed and a shower!" He replied before clutching his comrade in a bear hug.

„It is good to see you Sev, even if circumstances are not merry!"

Snape ushered Tremayne away from Dumbledore, his father and the two other big heads to a table with hot coffee and sandwiches. 

„Yvan and Alain should be here soon and I'll pick up an old friend of ours in the afternoon at Rennes train station. Yannick's back in the game! Until that, I do believe that I should first treat you to hot water and pillow, while the bosses discuss our fate!"

Damien Tremayne gave a huge grin and dug into the sandwiches like a starving wolf. 

He had known Severus for ages; they had dragged their tired bones together through the mud at Coequidan(1), jumped side by side from non-magic Transal aeroplanes(2) with non-magic parachutes fixed to their backs and drunk themselves into stupor with half-warm(3) Heineken beer when still naughty adolescents and fairly decided conscripts. 

They'd signed up the same day and sworn their oath on the same Tricolour flag to serve France, magic and non-magic with honour! 

Then their ways had parted, with Severus leaving for the war against a dark wizard on the British Isles and Damien receiving a terribly non-magic assignment at the French Embassy at Teheran to keep a sharp eye on Islamic fanatics and their soufi associates close to the borders of a Soviet Union that would only prolongate its political and economic agony by starting an aggressive overtake of hostile barren plains and snowclad mountains of tribal Afghanistan. They had been hardly twenty then.......Lieutenant's insignia on their shoulders and their heads full of dreams and revelries and convinced that the world would be a better place if they'd be brave and steady!

While Snape tried to infiltrate and survive the realm of dark black magic, he'd tried to convince a teacher of mathematics and physics from Kabul who was obviously opposed to communism and a return to the middle ages of his poor country to engage into resistance against the mighty Soviet Armed Forces and the power at Moscow. Amir Shah Massoud had been his cause; a cause that had made him the unchallenged expert in the Dark Forces that could be raised from the ashes of past glory of the Middle East.

Fifteen years had gone bye since! He had been working with Severus, after he had come back from his war with the dark wizard on the Isles; cold black eyes that had seen too much, a cold calculating mind that was fixed on the sole issue of survival, a cold voice that only pronounced what was absolutely necessary to communicate. Fillon had sent him to the mountains of Afghanistan to forget the plains of England!

Snape forced another coffee on his old friend and comrade Damien Tremayne. It was no habit of his to behave like a well-trained British nanny, but he could not prevent himself from doing it today and with Damien.

It was funny! Damien had been in the darkest shit a man could be in, when Fillon had the glorious idea to send him to the other end of the world and into the Middle Ages for a change of mind after Voldemort and Askaban.

Severus had hardly apparated in a snow-covered god-forsaken place in the mountainous area east of Kandahar with the strange mission to ,support moudjaheddin activities' against the Soviets, when he'd realised that the man on the spot most certainly did not need neither highly sophisticated potions nor a supplementary wand against the forces of evil. He'd just stumbled over a fellow who was so deeply buried in basic issues of physical and mental survival in the most hostile environment a European could stumble in, that instead of magic or non-magic high tech and science he'd conjured a pot of extra strong expresso.

„So how's going, Sev?" Tremayne asked under two glorious gulps of hot, black beverage and his sixth cucumber-tomato-mozzarella sandwich. 

Snape gave an embarrassed smile.

„He's back and he's a problem!"

„Meaning, you are really in deep, deep shit!"

„Worse."

„Needing help?"

„Lots, plus four-leafed clover and the protection of all saints Yannick's Roman friends can muster."

Snape smiled even more awkwardly. He had indeed studied a little bit about the new religion and he'd even found a copy of a history book they always referred to and called ,The Bible'. He'd read it out of loyalty when Yannick had told him, he would enter the Benedictine Order. Nevertheless -on a philosophical level- Severus could not pretend that he had understood a lot. What they called the ,Evangelists' were simply too abstract for a druid! He was unable to conceive the idea of a Holy Trinity, when the world was made of four elements of nature. But from what he figured out, there were so-called Saints you could conjure in case of need and sometimes it worked for very specific magic tasks. One of them particularly appealed to the young wizard: Saint Jude of Desperate Causes! And with the Dark One a mad power-hungry demon, Severus was willing to conjure about everything to get rid of Voldemort!

„Saints?" Damien enquired curiously, fishing the last cucumber-tomato-mozzarella sandwich out of the stake of food prepared by the Montmuran house elves.

„That's what they call'em! It is case-specific magic, as far as I understand. You have to light candles and sacrifice flowers, which seems logic to me, but afterwards you have to discuss with a wooden artefact hidden in a temple were you cannot see the sky or speak to the stars. And this is not logic. But it seems to work from time to time notwithstanding these difficulties!" Severus shrugged. He was confident that Yannick could handle his own magic pretty well and did not need his half-enlighten comments anyhow.

„Sounds complicated, Sev! But I have travelled a bit recently and my internal clock is not at GMT. I think, I will get myself that shower and shave first. Then we proceed logically and pick up Yannick, listen to the bosses, attend the ,gorseed' and if there is really nothing else to be done, I'll help you figure out ,Saints'. You're sure, there is no potion for this problem?"

Severus grinned at the joke of Damien Tremayne. He was probably not as jet-lagged from the apparition over the Mediterranean as he wanted the others to believe! It was good to have the feeling to be no longer alone with a real dire problem such as the Dark One........and the idea with the potion .................well! Since his job exposed him to underage magic pranksters, he was taken to give his First-years at Hogwarts a traditional show of swishing black robes, silky voice and a recital on bottling glory, brewing fame and putting a stopper to death! The effect was quite amazing. He had realised that they were habitually dunce until Christmas Holidays. A potion to undermine Voldemort's power over his followers was perhaps an issue he should study from a more scientific point of view! 

„Shower? Change?" Severus asked Damien Tremayne.

„You bet!" The young wizard replied with a broad smile.

1. French Commando training centre in Brittany; it is a rough place to be!

2. Military transport aircraft

3. That's a tradition! It goes for the French Foreign Legion and for their Special Forces. Please do not ask me why! I never found out.......but I suppose it is linked with the fact that they cannot take freezers with them, when on operations! 


	31. The Alliance

Chapter 31 The Alliance

Cornelius Fudge had apparated on Voldemort's orders and although the British Minister of Magic believed that he had done an extremely good job with Nouredine Ben Kad'r and his other North African allies, he had a terrible feeling in his stomach. 

It was never easy to stand in front of the Dark Lord and report to him! 

Notwithstanding one's successes and achievements, it could not be excluded that Voldemort punished his devote Death Eater just for the show or in order to demonstrate his power to the assembly. 

It was also impossible to know, if 'He-who-must-not-be-Named' had ordered a collective summoning of his inner circle or if it was an individual summoning. 

Should all surviving and free members of the inner circle be present, Fudge supposed he'd be in for a demonstration of power from the Master, this time. He was the newcomer. He had been entrusted with his first mission. He had never felt the Master's strength or shown his own courage and worth as a wizard to his fellow Death Eaters. 

He had heard from Crabbe or Goyle......he could never remember who was who with the two brutish bulls that looked strangely as if they were twins, that Malfoy had already been in for a Cruciatus at the cemetery, the very moment the Master was again able to handle his wand. 

  
  


And on his own very first meeting as a Death Eater, wearing the Dark Mark burnt into his flesh and belonging finally to the inner circle himself, he had witnessed how Voldemort almost killed Severus Snape combining successive and most powerful Cruciatus Curses with sheer physical violence simply because the greasy old bat of Hogwarts Potions Master had been unable to escape the full panoply of Ministry officials, students parents and teaching staff in the middle of the Triwizard Tournament and from a place that forbade apparition and all other sophisticated form of speedy magic travelling for security reasons.

While attending the Death Eaters' meeting, Fudge had relished in seeing the arrogant, proud bastard being tortured by Voldemort. 

But on a second thought, the scene had not been that amusing for several reasons: First Snape's capacity to endure without a single sound escaping from between his clenched teeth, while daring to look straight into the eyes of Voldemort had proven to all other Death Eaters present that notwithstanding his relative youth, he himself was an extremely strong and powerful wizard. 

This had been Severus reputation already during the reign of terror of the 1980ies. He had owned his rapid ascension from nowhere right into Voldemort's inner circle basically to his power, courage, bravery, utter ruthlessness and Lucius Malfoy's protection. 

  
  


Fudge knew only to well the dark magic and powers of Lucius himself and he had no doubt, that a Malfoy -Britain's highest wizarding aristocracy- would never caution a man of lesser origins, if this man would not be able to compensate his lack of nobility with something else, something equally precious than purest blood. 

Snape and Malfoy had been the two youngest Death Eaters of the inner circle, but nevertheless they were soon to the right and to the left of the Master! It had been the fall of the Lestranges that had opened their way for them. 

And although Malfoy had pretended to have acted under the Imperius Curse, when he had been taken in by Ministry Aurors at only a heart's beat from Goddric's Hollow the very night the Potter's had died and a toddler of two years dispatched the Dark Lord, he had continued unfailingly in the Dark Ways. 

Severus had been an entirely different case: He had been the one not to betray Voldemort after his capture together with Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson. He had chosen a slow and painful way through hell and down to the death row of Askaban instead. 

He had been released -almost against his own will - after a fervent intervention on his behalf by one Alastor Moody, head of the Unspeakables and the most dreaded hunter of followers of Voldemort. Then he had disappeared for a couple of years before emerging at Hogwarts and as a professor on Dumbledore's staff. Fudge had seen quite a bit of the young wizard during those years, but he was unable to figure him out. A mechanical contrivance full of dark, evil and hatred, but nevertheless maintained as Head of Slytherin House by Dumbledore against all odds and regular opposition in the Hogwarts Board of Governors!

  
  


Fudge had felt instinctively that the showdown he had witnessed a couple of days ago was a confirmation of a truth of old. Voldemort had taken on to Malfoy and Snape immediately, because he wanted them back in their very places where they had been before Halloween Night 1981 and one Harry Potter.

  
  


When the Dark Lord finally decided to pay attention to his Death Eater, Fudge shivered and felt to his knees, instantly embracing the he of his Master's black robe and preparing himself.

  
  


„Sire, I did as you commanded." The Minister of Magic could not hide a hint of pride in his voice, when he started to relate the meeting and agreement with Nouredine Ben Kad'r. 

  
  


Voldemort listened patiently. He did not interrupt Cornelius Fudge until he had come to the very end of his report.

  
  


„So he has accepted the money and the ,agent' in exchange for some spectacular actions?"

  
  


„Yes, My Lord!"

  
  


„Very well, Cornelius! You will maintain the contact with Nouredine Ben Kad'r. Let him know, that we define the so-called ,spectacular action' in London. He shall then execute my task. See to it, that the dervish understands exactly with whom he deals. I want you to arrange on your own for the execution of some of his muggle followers. It must be expressive, terrible and evident who has authored these acts. Ben Kad'r must know that we neither play games, nor trust him before he has proven the worth of his organisation to me! The plan is at your discretion, Cornelius."

  
  


Fudge lifted his head at Voldemorts words. The Master entrusted him with important work; He was sent out to execute muggles and cast the Dark Mark. He could not believe his good fortune. Since he had joined the inner circle only days had gone bye......and already this honour!

  
  


„Sire,"he replied with awe,"I shall do everything you command. You will be satisfied;"

  
  


Voldemort turned away from the British Minister of Magic.

  
  


„Dispose! I expect you to do your best!"

  
  
  
  
  
  


Askaban was the grizzliest place, Walden McNair had ever seen in his life and for him it was also the most joyful!

  
  


On a weather-beaten island in the midst of the Atlantic Ocean rose a strange construction of granite stones. No tree, no flower, no grass adorned the whole place. It seemed that on this barren soil only rocks would grow. No matter what season of the year, Askaban was constantly overshadowed with menacing grey clouds and an icy wind chilled you to the bones. 

  
  


Many who had been condemned to be sent off to this place died from cold and despair. 

  
  


Habitually less then ten days at Askaban were enough to transform a human being into a complete wretch, yearning for nothing else but death. 

This merit came to the Dementors: Dementors were among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infested the darkest, filthiest places on Earth, they gloried in decay and despair, they drained peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them.

Even Muggles felt their presence, though they could not see them. Whoever came too near a dementor instantly realized that every good feeling, every happy memory was sucked out of him, the dementor feed on ist victim long enough to reduce it to something like itself...soul-less and evil. After the Dementor was through with a wizard, he was left with nothing but the worst experiences of his life. 

Suicide was a common feature, much to the disappointment of the Dementors, as they were deprived from sucking happy thoughts and souls out of these reticent ,clients', who decided to destroy their own lives, as long as they still had a hint of reason. The wizards' prison of the British Ministry of Magic was a place like Hell. Some even pretended, that Hell was cosy compared to the grey granite fortress! 

  
  


As soon as a condemned came here, all laws of society, magic and muggle were redundant: The Dementors were allowed to do as it pleased them, while the Ministry of Magic personnel assigned to Askaban was of the most depraved kind. They were encouraged to allow their lust for torment, torture and each and every kind of physical and psychological abuse to run free. No constraint existed! 

  
  


Prisoners sent down to Askaban into the so-called ,death row', those who waited for confirmation of a sentence to a Dementor's Kiss, that would suck their soul and transform them into wandering corpses were the worst off! 

  
  


Habitually Walden McNair, official executioner of dangerous magical creatures for the Ministry, arranged for at least a monthly trip to the weather-beaten rock, when they had some interesting wizard on the death row. He relished in certain games of torture and abuse and could indulge here without restraint and control. Rape was his favourite! He knew that all his victims would be silenced immediately after he had taken his gory pleasure. No one outside the cells of Askaban had ever learn about his depraves to this very day........not even the circle of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, his Master! 

  
  


But now, actually leaving the granite fortress for the dungeons far down inside the rock, which was the island sent shivers of fear even through McNair's hardened and merciless body and soul.

  
  


He had grown used to the company of the Dementors over the years! At some moments he even enjoyed it and encouraged the faceless, hooded shadows to join him in a game of torment on a helpless, bound wizard in a cell without any means of escape!

  
  


Only today, all on his own and inside the rock, which was their realm and ordered to negotiate the hooded creatures' change of sides he could not feel at ease: He was to confront their chieftain, a creature from the Dark Ages, a monster of the past, an unfathomable minor demon who never ever left his cavernous hide. 

  
  


The Chieftain himself did not feed on the prisoners of Askaban. He feed on his own kind only! And each time he devoured a Dementor, who had feed particularly well on the condemned men and woman from the cells of the fortress, he would generate two new Dementors. It was their way of reproducing, of growing in size, power and influence! 

  
  


When Walden McNair reached the heart of the rock, an ice-cold draught of air made him snap almost to attention. The Chieftain was expecting him. His foul breath had invaded the cavern and his hooded, cloaked frame closed down on the envoy of the Dark Lord.

  
  


„Why do you dare disturb me?" he sizzled dangerously. Spiny fingers clutched to McNair's cloak and dragged the executioner of the Ministry of Magic deeper into the rock. The man was convinced, his last moments of life had come. He tried desperately to keep his countenance, when the Chieftain pushed him into a gory icy hole. Only one single candle lightened the place. 

  
  


"I come to you with a proposal of my Master!", Walden McNair spoke immediately, hoping to get the Dementors' Chieftain into a co-operative mood. "I want to trade! Two dark souls from the prison cells of Askaban with hardly a happy thought left and on which you feasted for more then a dozen years…..I propose to exchange them for a dozen joyful children at your entire discretion. You may do with the children whatever you like!"

  
  


The terrible hooded creature gnarled. McNair felt fear transpiring from his body. It was terribly dangerous to show fear in the presence of a Dementor. The executioner fought hard to regain control.

  
  


"There are more children, Chieftain!" His voice at least did not transpire the momentary slip. McNair told himself that this could happen even to the most battle-hardened Death Eater. The important thing was to regain one's composure immediately, before the Dementor would attack.

  
  


"Two dark souls against two dozen!" The Chieftain claimed with an icy, inhuman voice "And I suppose you want us to take care of the substitutes you will introduces into the cells of these people, so that the Ministry does not realize, who has gone missing! That makes it two dozen more of your tasty little brats for a feast of my kin……" 

  
  


Walden McNair hid his extreme pleasure at the words of the Dementor carefully. To show one's pleasure, while facing one of these creatures was as dangerous as to show fear or any other strong human feeling. 

  
  


It gave the Dementor a weakness where he would instantly attack. Diverting a Dementor's attack requested from a wizard the capability to build a strong protective ward or to cast the 'Patronus Charm'. Neither wards, nor the 'Patronus' were within the executioner's reach inside the rock. He knew instinctively that he was naturally cruel, bloodthirsty, ruthless and mean. He was efficient in all things dark and magic, but the Patronus Charms or a protective ward against the Chieftain would request him to provide a strong positive memory and especially a man like McNair was unable to foster a nice thought right inside the Dementors' stronghold. He simply forced his nerves to calm down again.

  
  


"You can count on me, Chieftain. The children will be delivered to you, as soon as my Master's loyal servants are beyond the walls of Askaban. I will take care of the substitutes immediately. You may dispatch them as soon as they set foot on the island. They have only to be left in the cells long enough for the Ministry's guards to see two dead bodies."

  
  


The Dementor Chieftain nodded his approval. He felt the satisfaction to have played an easy game and won big: McNair's Master requested two dark souls and offered them by now almost fifty children in exchange. There would be more in this deal then just substitution of Death Eaters and some sophisticated secret escapes from Askaban. Finally his time had come to speak up. The Dementors had all felt the resurrection of a truely evil and power-ridden Dark Lord. 

  
  


Their association with the Ministry of Magic as guardians of Askaban and executioners of condemned wizards had been a marriage of reason after the fall of Grindlewald and the end of the great Muggle War in 1945. Grindlewald had been a worshiper of the Dark Arts, but nevertheless he had cherished a programm that could not all be associated with simple lust for power, terror and blood. 

  
  


Grindlewald had been a firm believer in the preeminence of pureblood wizards over all other magically apt beings. His fight had been a campaign to re-establish the pureblood wizarding aristocracy at all thresholds of influence, while stimulating the muggles to act in paralell, exterminating what they considered inferior forms of life. Grindlewald had been a crusader, a wizard of firm beliefs and convictions and although he had met a dreadful end, he had been throughout a respectable adversary for all those who had fought him and he had made it a point to give battle according to the rules. A treat in Grindlewald that had disgusted the Dementors from the very begining of his rule was that wizard's capacity and willingness to show mercy to a valient enemy! It was basically his Austrian puppet muggle dictator, who went out of control and caused his final defeat. 

  
  


But Voldemort was a different issue: The Chieftain was immortal and had all the time in the world. He had thus decided to first observe the new pretender to the ultimate Dark Power in the magic and non magic world. Voldemort's first fall had been only a delaying factor for the Dementor's final decision.

  
  


„Tell your Master that he can count on our co-operative attitude, McNair!" The Chieftain sizzled The single candle threw a short glimps of light on his atrocious eyless countenance and terrible mouth „But tell him also, that the Dementors side with him on a basis of equals. Voldemort is a pure manifestation of evil right now. Nevertheless he must be aware that we, too are such manifestations. He can neither dunce nor frighten us. He has only one choice; the coice to treat with us on a basis of equals. If we lend the Dark Lord a hand in his quest for power and eternity, we will take our share of the cake withouit asking twice!"

  
  


Walden McNair felt that the conversation with the Chieftain had come to an end for this day. He had a clear commitment from the Dementors to turn against the Ministry of Magic in support of Lord Voldemort. He should not try to obtain more for this moment! 

  
  



	32. Author's Note

Author's Note

  
  


Sorry, but for the next two weeks there will be no updates; My publisher (for whom I write the real stories, where all belongs to me and nothing to JKR) requests the outline for my next novel and............that is quite a piece of work. When this is done, I will continue my Snape-fiction and........it will become meddlesome for Cornelius Fudge, while you'll learn something aboput Lucius Malfoy, you never expected. So please be patient until easter and do not give up the story and the reviews!

  
  


Griffon


	33. Conspiracy Theories

Chapter 32 Conspiracy Theories

  
Harry acknowledged without further thought the magic folks in Montmuran's Medieval Garden. The house elves had dressed tables that hosted between six and ten all over the place. There were also Cat's Tables' for the kids in between. It was a merry diner, that looked more like a garden party with candles floating in the air and lanterns between the flower beds. 

After their large scale Quidditch match with so many unforeseen additional players, which emerged from the pont-levis' with each and every new arrival of guests at Montmuran, he'd been introduced to quantity of other kids that were to stay over the next few days.He and Morigan had chosen to sit with two of these new-comers, the twins that had come with the young witch he had seen portkeying in earlier the day. Loi'c and Till were in their third year at Beaubaxton and friends of Morigan. Hadrian, with whom he had struggled so fervently for the Golden Snitch' only to see it finally caught by a rogue seeker, who had entered the game without announcing his presence somewhere in the middle of their flight acrobatics had been dragged away from the Cats Table' by his grandfather Aurelian a bit earlier. He sat now with a couple of elder witches and wizards on the far end of the garden, obviously terribly happy to have been admitted into the adults group. 

A house elf in a cute blue and white Vichy caro dress with white cotton lace and embroideries that looked a bit like a traditional Bavarian dress offered the kids a tasty choice of grilled fish and potatoes with fresh cream and herbs as main course. Whatever a youngster chose was instantly charmed free of fishbone and magicaly dressed on his or her plate in its fillet form. Harry chose rouget'-robber, a fish that tasted like shrimp. He had really grown fond of this seafood stuff and did not miss meat at all. 

So you are lucky and go to the festival?", one of the young witch's twins -Loi'c- questioned him and Morigan. Wish Mum would allow us to go with you, but we still have our grandparents to visit."  


You'll go down south again to Montségur then." Morigan enquired with curiosity.   


Well, yes. That's nice, too. But the Interceltic Festival would be more fun then hiking in the mountains of Southwestern france. We do this each and every holiday."

  
Till, Loi'c simply ask your mum and we'll see to it that you can take a portkey to join your family at Montségur after Lorient.", Morigan advised slyly. Gwenael had booked enough hotel rooms to stuff in some more kids without problems. Anyhow, whoever went to Lorient for the Festival was there not to sleep, but to enjoy nights out in the open summer air in good company, dancing, eating and listening to good music.

That's a deal!" The twins Loi'c and Till answered in one voice.

Harry smirked. Yeah, his friends Lucius and Livius were right, when they said they could run wild and have fun at Lorient. Nobody, not even two fully grown up Snape-sisters and one additional Snape sister-in-law would be able to keep the whole bunch of underage pranksters under control during such an event. He was really counting hours before setting off to Lorient with his girlfriend Morigan and all the other kids. He had been readily briefed in by the others on this spectacular open-air music gathering that took place every year in the Brittany sea port. Groups from Ireland, Wales, Scotland, the Basque country, Spain, Portugal and the entire Celtic world were expected. They'd give concerts of folk music and the whole town was to be alive twenty-four hours for an entire weekend. Harry's eyes philandered from their table and the upcoming outing to the other tables in the Medieval Garden. It was quite impressive to muster such a large family on one single spot and at the same time. 

He wondered if the French wizarding community was much bigger then the British one. They seemed so terribly incline to large quantities of kids! Harry counted almost more Cat's Tables" then tables with grown ups and suddenly he wondered what it would have been, if his parents would have lived after Haloween Night 1981: Would James and Lily have chosen to give him siblings as playmates, like Severus or the Weasley's with altogether seven kids or would he have been a single child like Dudley Dursley and Draco Malfoy, rotten spoilt and difficult to get along with? 

His eyes lingered over an adults' table where his Hogwarts Potions Master sat together with three men about his own age and one who seemed a bit older and who wore funny brown robes and doned a strange short haircut. Were they cousins? Was it an assembly of friends? Difficult to say! Apart the one in brown robes with a sisal rope wound around his waist under a slight belly that clearly indicated taste for good food, they all looked a bit alike: Long dark ponytails, dark eyes, eagles beaks, lean, tall, square shoulders...............none of them smiled or laughed. That was strange! All other tables were filled with chatters and laughter and fun, while this group of five seemed to be..........not in a bad mood but worried, preoccupied............almost haunted. Ther heads tugged together, they seemed deep in discussion. There was a lot of gesturing: broad shoulders fell in signs of resignation, shaking heads and.........Severus back to Hogwarts mimics: Brows raised, lips twisted in his particular Snape-snarl, gloomy and dark. Only the notorious black, swashing bat disguisewas missing tonight. 

Strangely for Harry Potter his Potions Master wore snow white ample robes with a fine silver Celtic embroidery of so-called endless knots. The robes were very much different from what wizards over in England habitually wore; long, wide sleeves, no high and buttoned up collar, but fairly open in front to show the bearer's neck and chest. Harry could clearly see that Snape had a kind of broad twisted silver ring with dragons' heads circling his neck. The other young wizard who wore white embroidered robes too, had a similar ring, although it ended in something that reminded dolphins; The two of them had also long staffs laid on the ground next to their chairs. The top of each staff was sort of a uncut crystal circled in silver and reproducing the animal from the neck ring. The Boy-who-Lived let his eyes wander away from that thoughtful preoccupied group.

Indeed, there were several white and silver embroidered robes around. Apart Severus Harry recognised Aurelian , Snape's youngest sister Delphine, Myriam and the mother of his two new friends Loi'c and Till!

Then there was a larger quantity of green robes embroidered in copper and blue robes embroidered in gold. The witch he had almost ridden over with his broom, earlier that day -Nol'wen-wore blue, while the rest of Severus siblings including his mother Geneviève were in green. Those wizards and witches who wore blue had no staffs laid on the ground, but Celtic harps standing close to them. The green ones had staffs of a different type from the wearers of white. They lacked the crystal globe in the middle, but were instead adorned with elaborate decorations of leaves made of copper. In fact most people around wore white, green and blue. The guy in brown was an exception, so was Albus Dumbledore in burgundy red, Gwenael's muggle-born husband Michel in a muggle diner jacket and a chap that absolutely did not fit in as to the dress code of the evening: He had chosen a French army uniform of kaki colour: Four golden stars on his shoulder badges, a name tag on his left chest and under the name tag rows of decorations. Morigan was still so wrapped up in her Lorient conversation, that Harry had to shake her little bronzed hand to get her attention. He motioned the man in kaki.

Who's that?", he asked simply.

Sev's general, Claude Fillon!" Her answer was straight forward and did not contain more information. Considering the curiosity slap the girl had given him some days earlier during the diner, when Dumbledore had arrived at the fortress and he had dared to enquire about Snape, he considered unwise to request more intelligence for the moment. The soldier in kaki was probably nothing more then a friend from Snape's mysterious military past they called conscription' and invited to share a meal. Why not? Since Severus seemed to be able to have an extensive family, why shouldn't he be able to have friends,too. Those with whom he shared table and meal looked all bat-like enough to be to his Potions Master's taste anyhow! 

Harry turned his attention back to the other kids at his Cats Table". The newly arrived twins Loic and Till were starting a Quidditch discussion with Lucius, Livius and Morigan. This was much more interesting to a fifteen years old boy, then letting his eyes linger on strangely clad adults who were enjoying themselves peacefully over glorious food and quantities of wine and champagne.

Do not try and take the reference from the Book of Enoch literally!" Father Yannick Le Floa'ch stopped the enthusiasm of his four magic friends Understand that our writings are allegories and not how-to' manuals!"

Severus gave a deep sigh. Since he had studied their famous history book called The Bible' he had almost thought so; It was often simply too fantastic to be straight forward and interpretation seemed necessary. But to perform this interpretation it was equally necessary to posess a certain range of keys, as in a cypher code!

Can you perhaps conclude, that the British Dark One is this Asa'el of your Book of Enoch, Yannick? Did you find an indication or something?" Damien Tremayne enquired with much curiosity. He had come quite often over strange manifestations of evil during his time in the Middle East. When those had been spectres of the past, they had been harder to fight then simple dark wizards or power-hungry Sufis.

The Benedictine shock his head. Voldemort was definitively not the Asa'el from the Book of Enoch, also his Death Eaters seemed to be a copy of his so-called 'Watchers' and overall semblance was striking. Raphael the arch angel had handled this nasty demon issue definitively and with sucess thousands of years ago. He himself believed - and Cardinal Ratzinger had confirmed his assumption - that Voldemort was simply making all the same mistake as Asa'el, including reliance on a inefficient Satanist ritual to recover a human form, while for emample possesing a body would have been simpler and cleaner..... Blood-Flesh-Bones meant to expose the manifestation that chose the rite to all the weaknesses troubling full human forms and most prominently ageing and decay....only the process was manyfold speedier!

I believe that your interpretation concerning his weakness' is notwithstanding the right one, Severus!" Father Le Floa'ch added The boy -Harry- seems to be more an obsession of Voldemort's than a true weakness; kind of hurt pride, because as a toddler Harry has found a trick to defeat him even without a wand. Do you think you can dare another look inside the tormented brain of this demon to have confirmation?"

Under given circumstances, yes.........but trust me, if you'd know what circumstances are necessary to slip inside Voldemort's brain, you'd not encourage me to go...." Snape replied with a weird look on his face. He would rather not get himself another treat of ultra-long Cruciatus Curses plus another bloody back. His old scars hurt like hell, since they were now healing speedily thanks to his mother's competent ministrations. The healing proved itself almost as painful as the opening of these scars. Severus was sure that the Dark One had done this on purpose, simply to remind him of the very reason, why his back was full of nasty scars. It had been a reminder of those ruthless: Ministry of Magic aurors, who tortured as badly as Voldemort himself and of Azkaban! He still felt a sting in his heart when he thought that his own side, the Light, had been responsible for this descent into Hell that had led him to two attempt suicides; one in Askaban's death row and one almost a year later after Dumbledore had refused to let go Harry to Myrrhidin. As with the Romans of old, for druids it had always been an accepted last way out in desperate situations, a means of snatching a small measure of victory from the jaws of defeat. Thoughtfully Severus' thumbs rubbed the scars over the veins on his left and right wrist. 

Under given circumstances, yes!" He repeated for Yannick I will try once more on occasion and if he does not catch me and...... blows my brains out immediately, I will tell you exactly what I saw if you believe it might help us find the key for his defeat."

I am convinced the key is there, Sev." Yannick replied almost cheerfully. Since he had studied each and every case of defeating a demon that was recorded in the Vatican Secret Archive he had come to the conclusion that the deed was best done by exploiting an evil manifestation's main weakness to this aim and Voldemort was obviously caught by a handy dream of all-pervading power! So to snatch from his hands the very means to wield this power would unbalance the demon dangerously and therefore weaken him I cannot but fully agree with Delacour's and Fillon's idea to start with taking out Voldemort's allies one by one."

..........including the British Minister of Magic perhaps!" Severus mused and threw a knowing glance at Damien Tremayne, Alain Genty and Yvan Denez Prigent. It was a customary French method, magic and non-magic alike to dispose of obstacles the rough way. Whenever an African dictator in a former colony of the country became cumbersome, the DGSE sent in a knowledgeable team of experts to ridden the world of the madman'. It did not even need to be an African dictator; meddlesome environmental activists opposing France's nuclear tests at Mururoa Atoll, over-chatty scientists and else had frequently gone the same way! For a republic and a democracy, the country had always shown considerable lack of restraint in this field, honouring the old maxim of to do in Rome as the Romans do'! 

While the three younger men gave Snape conspirator grins, Father Le Floa'ch shook his head in despair You won't consider cold blooded murder,Sev......?"

Why not? It is nothing else but cutting the grass under that bastard's feet! Why not taking out Fudge and some others from his Inner Circle if this helps us to finaly curtail his plans?nasty Just imagine, Yannick! We have already carte blanche' for this Nouredine Ben Kad'r and his bottle ghost. Anyhow they strife for great mischief if we let them do, mainly by carrying this power struggle over into the non-magic world................and by depriving Voldemort of his devote Minister of Magic another man has to be appointed in Britain........ Perhaps one, who is willing to put enough steel into fighting the Dark One and who is not just a slobbering follower of his! That would be a wholesale shook to the Dark One to lose at once not only an ally with considerable potential to harm in Britain, on the Continent and on the other side of the Mediterranean, but also his grip on England's magic community through the Ministry itself.......By the end, we could really dunce him, if someone managed to find out how that bastard tries to recollect his funds from all over Europe and the US. If he's short of cash......"

Money?" Alain Genty interrupted Snape. He had only arrived prior to the big diner party in the Medieval Garden from his NATO exercise in Germany and since Damien Tremayne, Yvan Denez Prigent and Severus had disapparated from the Fortress to Rennes in order to pick up Yannick Le Floa'ch, who needed a parcel apparition to Montmuran, being himself a Benedictine and not a wizard, there had been no time to inform the fifth man at the table of all the deliberations that had taken place during the afternoon.

Indeed. Already during his first reign of terror Voldemort made it a habit to plunder his victims and dispatch the spoils of war on covert bank accounts in the non-magic world, since the wizarding banks are controlled by goblins. There may be a gallon or two in wizard vaults, but the gross is outside. I do not know an awful lot, since I was hardly two years of the Inner Circle and only about nine months close enough to the beast to collect this type of intelligence, but from the bit I saw.........he's made himself quite a bounty!"

Alain Genty nodded apprehensively. The plan of action became fairly clear: First they'd try and retrieve some chess pieces from the board - the Islamist dervish and his ghostly associate, a rogue politician and the cash line. These were the main keys the British Dark Lord held to carry his quest of power into the non-magic world. Then they'd try and fight it out from within, hoping to prevent any large scale spill over. Since the man knew his history, he understood perfectly well that the failure to prevent the spill over into the non-magic world had been the cause for Grindlewald's reign to generate in parallel WW II. To learn from past mistakes was certainly a good thing, even if it contained the risk, to prolongate the struggle against Voldemort a bit more. Severus was already in this troublesome strife for fifteen years, while the large scale clash with Grindlewald had only taken six years from outburst to conclusion!

Snape rose his head from their conspirator table of fife to throw a glance on the other tables. Here and there members of the gorseed' already took leave to wander from the Medieval Garden over to the Brocéliande Forest and the Stone Ring. It was perhaps time to conclude for tonight and follow in their path. 

Come on, gentlemen! There may be some more clever ideas around here!" He suggested, picking his staff from the ground.   


  



	34. Lost in Thoughts

Chapter 33 Lost in Thoughts

Lucius Malfoy left Barclays Bank in the City of London. He was very content with his performance. The documents were accepted without any problem. He has closured Tom Riddle's account and now departed with a Delsey Attachée case full of nice crisp bank notes. He held out his hand to hire a cab. Apparating from Fleet Street was to hazardous, he prefered a corner of St.James Park, where vegetation would hide his magic means of transport back to Malfoy Manor.

All funds of Voldemort hidden in England had been retrieved with speed and efficiency. Lucius' next stop-over would be Germany. He was fairly happy that the continent was in apparition range and that most of the money was within the reach of a skilled wizar. The money deposited in the United States meant, he would be obliged to either use a portkey or a muggle airplane.Somehow he was tempted to try out the airplane: He had been unable to find out to which extend the US Law Enforcement Agencies, Customs and Ministry of Finances checked upon large cash withdrawals. Portkeying meant not to pass customs and therefor being potentialy non-existing. He'd be obliged to show Robert G.Bell's slightly adapted passport to all bankers and brokers he'd visit in New York. They could realize that no Emigration officer had checked, notifying his legal entry into the United States with a stamp and signature.

Anyhow, he'd see to that issue latter. Lucius Malfoy handed the cab driver his money and stepped through a huge iron wrought gate right into Saint James Park. His looks and decent grey suit did not brtray him. He just looked like hundreds of other stressed and overworked managers who enjoyed a bit of air and sunshine during their lunch break. The cobblestones of the walk made a crisp sound under his black leather shoes. He reached his apparition spot and disappeared unseen by any of the many lunchbreakers together with his bounty of 250.000£ to his dungeons at Malfoy Manor. 

With the money safely stored behind an enchanted wall that gave only way to himself after a complicate number of wards and charms, he proceeded to his lavishly decorated office. The first thing he did, was to charm his grey muggle business attire and short haircut back into decent wizard robes and his customary long blond Lavalière. Lucius hated muggle disguise perhaps even more then the non-magic folks themselves. Having accomplished the first part of his mission for Voldemort sucessfully and undetected, he felt an owl to inform his Master would not be a luxury.

Malfoy settled comfortably in a high-backed carved mahogany chair. He poured himself a glass of whisky from the cristal decanter on his beautiful Napoleon I. bureau and chose a parchement with his family crest of arms embossed on top.

My Lord,

I am pleased to inform you.........."

The falcon gone and his duty to the Dark One acquited, he sipped at his glass for a while. With dear Narcissa and Draco still away for another week on their culture trip' through Italy, it would perhaps be best to just take a shower and a change and immediately set of to Germany. Lucius intended to to what Voldemort had commanded as quickly as humanly possible. It was not only a way to show the Master his unfailing loyalty and superbe efficiency, it was also a deed done for very selfish reasons: As soon as his spouse and their son would be back from the continent, they planned to retire for the three resting weeks of Draco's summer holidays to Carthmarten Castle on the Channel Island Anglesey. Lucius Malfoy, one of the most dangerous black wizards great Britain had ever produced intended to simply spend some peaceful days with his family! It considerably heightened his spirit, after the first calling to the graveyard and the last Death Eaters meeting, where Voldemort had indulged in almost killing Severus Snape to think of sailing parties with wife and child on the cool, refreshing waters of the Atlantic. He'd enjoy Draco's company, dragging the young one along for typical father-son occupations, including even a drink or two in his favourite club, just before getting home for diner with Narcissa. A broad grin lightened Malfoy's face: Yes, father-son occupations! Draco would most certainly challenge him into regular morning duels, not with wands and a potential for harm, but the old way, with a blade in hand. It had been one of the great regrets of Lucius' that fencing and riding - true gentlemanly occupations for pureblood wizards - were taken off the Hogwarts curriculum in the aftermate of the war against Grindlewald. Certainly, Quidditch proved to be great fun and allowed for recless outbursts of youthful energy, but it was too popular to his refined tastes. He had always indulged in keeping up family traditions and he had thaught Draco from four years on how to wield a blad and how to be comfortable on horseback. But it was nevertheless a regret that the British wizard school system had abandoned these arts just in order to be less discriminatory to children who came from normal' families.

Lucius poured himself another careful shot of the nice 50-years old Oban Narcissa had undug at a sales of fine alcohols she had been to a couple of months ago. His mind firmly taken off the Dark Lord and fixed on his cosy little family, he retrieved another parchement from their carved mahogany box on his table. He had anyhow intended to send an owl to Severus in order to know if he had gotten his bits and bouts out of Voldemort's wrath. He would suggest his old friend -as Head of Slytherin House- to re-introduce a Duelling Club Slytherins Only". Since that girlish fool Gilderoy Lockhart had tried and failed with his wand waving mise en scéne' two years ago, perhaps Severus would be tempted to propose a decent activity to his own house...............if only to take his mind off day-to-day troubles and indulge in a bit of fun himself. Lucius remembered with pleasure his friends visits frequent visits to either Malfoy manor or Carthmarten Castle just in order to wield a mean blade with someone else then the Bloody Baron'. Another wizard who had been brought up in the old way! His family's obvious lack of means had fortunately no impact on the safeguard of traditions, although Lucius flattered himself to be the better fencer!

With the large, stately Malfoy barn owl away on her quest for Severus Snape during Summer Term holidays, Lucius lifted his lean body from his working place and made his way upstairs to their bedroom and bathroom. Without Narcissa it was simply to empty for him to rejoice in the style and luxury of everything. He could have shovered in a hut made from wooden planks in the middle of a uninhabited wasteland! He would not have felt any difference. Thought of leaving for Germany within the hour was better than a lonly night without his beloved one in their common bedchamber.

Harry felt his eyes dropping close. His stomach was full of all the delicacies Montmuran's house elves could create and even with a strong will he was unable to shuffle down another portion of mousse de chocolate'. The Quidditch discussion had gone from the afternoon game to the last World Cup to the advantages of his favourite team Chuddley Canons' over the famous French Team Reine's Runners' to feints and tricks and how to avoid being caught with a nasty trick by an overzealous referee. He realized that his lady-love' was equally tired and since he cuddled her little hand carefully in his, the feeling was that perhaps taking leave from Lucius and Livius and Till and Loi'c would not be considered an insult but simply the gesture of a gentleman who had to escort the gentler sex back to her bedchambers. Time had run and they were past midnight. Most of the adults' tables had been empty for a while and even his ditty old bat of Potions Master with his bat friends had already disappeared from the feast, although Severus' Hogwarts reputation was creature of the night'. Perhaps they had traded their grumpy subjects of discussion and haunted looks for too much mousse au chocolate' and were already snooring peacefully in their beds!

Harry stood up, bowed mockingly to a very tired Morigan de Villeon and took his leave from his friends. The girl had taken his proposed arm gracefully and seemed relieved to quit and skip the table for her pillow and blanket. Some short words handled the next morning, ist plans and projects and a late breakfeast together at 10 o'clock. Then they were off.

Harry led the way upstairs towards Morigan's bedroom, when suddenly his tired lady-love gave signs of life.

And if we'd go to your rooms! I'd kill for a soak in l'étuve'! All this chasing around on brooms and eating broke me to pieces and since mammy' put you into the Guesclin Chambers I had no occasion at all to make myself comfortable in the biggest bathtube of Montmuran since the very beginning of my holidays!" Her eyes came suddenly back to life and sparkled dangerously. The little eagle's beak quivered with excitement.

Since Harry was the guest at the fortress, he could only comply with the lady's wish. It was not terribly difficult for him to bow and change directions. Since their first, long and not so terribly discreet exploration of the secrets of life had not led to sessions in the torture chamber or even remarks, he could only guess that nobody minded as long as they played to the rules. At the end of the staircase his door swung open and Lady Morigan entered the rooms eagerly and .........fully awake. He led her to l'étuve' and in a cheerful mood they cast the necessary spells together. Rose oil and magnolia were added to the waters and the friendly ghost Lagardère was summoned and instructed to go better back to his readings for a little while. Dress robes dropped to the floor and two young adults dissapeared together in a relaxing warm and tasty bath within the second. When the stately clock on Montmuran's Western Tower struck 2 o'clock in the morning Harry and morigan emerged together from l'étuve' fresh and relaxed and quite unable to think of sleep.

It is quite interesting!" Morigan locked around as if she'd never before seen the room. Hedwig sleept peacefully on her stand next to the huge balcony and the night skies. Harry's books were spread over the sturdy, ink-spotted bureau close to the owl. The curtains were drawn open to allow the summer breeze in.

What?", Harry asked sheepishly, a bath towel slung around his hips, he tried to dry his unrully black hair with another towel, while gazing at Morigan, who seemed to admire the stars outside.

That he let you in here! Habitually he's quite bossy, when it comes to the Northern Tower. If you go upstairs and manage to undo his nasty wards, you are right in Sev's own rooms. You know, the Guesclin Chamber had been my father's rooms when he was a child! And since papa' married maman' and the two of them went a bit further in the fortress for reasons of privacy' nobody ever lived here. The Northern Tower has always been considered Sev's by the family..........the part of the fortress that goes to the second son'."

Harry smiled. He had no clue how they could cut a fortress like Montmoran in slices to accomodate a multitude of sons and daughters, but he firmly believed that this must simply be the French way. 

Do not worry! I would never ever go upstairs and be quizzy!" Harry replied.

Morigan turned away from the stars and returned Harry's smile He's not easy to understand, isn't he? Her dark eyes looked on the bed and then on the object that stood exposed on the bed table.

So this is the Pensiève you got for your birthday. Did you already try and use it?"

Harry shock his head. His black hair was finally dry enough not to soil the floor with water drops. He had been thinking about the gift of the raven since he'd received and unpacked it, but somehow the three short words Use it wisely!' had prevented the boy from trials with such a powerful magic object. Apart Dumbledore's Pensieve in the Headmaster's own Office of Hogwarts he had only read about these things. Having one himself now was too new a feeling to explore the potential of this unexpected gift.

Have you already made your mind up what you want to put into your Pensieve?" Morigan woke him from his reflections. Those were rare magical objects and terribly personal. Most lucky witches and wizards who owned Pensieves did not show them around a lot. 

Harry went over to his desk and retrieved Snape's short note on the cream-coloured embossed parchement from his favourite book Flying with the Canons'. Although he had appreciated the object itself, the note had touched him even more. With all the birthday gifts coming in, it had not been difficult for Harry to imagine that someone who had proven himself well-educated, polite and old-fashioned to acknowledge the fact with an act of politeness and education. Even the Dursley's had given him insignificant and unpersonal things from sheer education and politeness' for his birthdays or Christmas. But finding himself confronted with a gift that showed clearly that the person who had send it had been thinking about the person who would receive it quite a lot had been extremely touching for Harry. During his four years at Hogwarts he had never believed Snape being capable of such an approach to another human being. He had considered his Potions Master more mechanical contrievance then living, breathing and thinking body! These three simple words without any adornment or sentimentality went even further then thought. They were prove that Severus actually saw' Harry! He harboured something that could be called tough love' for him........no cuddling, no complacency, no hug or affection, but a strange kind of caring! A gift to allow someone who was all too often burdened by memories to ridden himself of thoughts and review them in a more detached manner, in a cooled down mood.

Morigan handed the parchement back to the boy and smiled So it is not always the cover that makes the book?"

Harry nodded. Although he had come no further in his attempt to figure out the ditty old bat, he had understood recently that between black and white there were many shades of grey and Severus belonged clearly into this part of the colour spectrum.

I have been thinking a lot about the Pensiève" the boy replied mainly about what I should entrust to its care: I am convinced that in one's life it should be the good memories that are kept and the bad memories that should be discarded. I will entrust only good and beautiful things to the Pensiève, thoughts that will help me when I feel low and bad..............not what I have seen in Albus Dumbledore's Pensiève................never!" 

He went over to the bed table, taking his wand and the object. It was sufficiently easy to use: Harry fixed his youthful mind as strongly as possible on the first night they had spent together, from the moment he had escorted Morigan down to the diner in the Salle du Chevalier' until the next morning when they woke up together, cuddled into the others arms and happy. It would be terrific to review this moment in five, ten, twenty years; the very moment when he realized how much he could care for someone else, how deep he could feel. He pointed the wand aginst his temple, letting drop a fine silver streak from his mind into the turning liquide inside the ancient Pensiève. It took him a little while to store all these precious moments carefully in this new, save place where they would never be forgotten.

Morigan watched Harry with curiosity. She was wondering what he would entrust to his birthday gift. But even before she could stop to wonder the boy streched out his hand and motioned her to come closer.

I would be most honoured if you'd share the first thought I entrusted to my Pensiève!" Harry said in a slightly mocking, but very warm and caring voice. He was sure that she'd be delighted. No matter what time and the future would bring to both of them, if not cleaned out with most powerful magic far beyond the reach of the average wizard, his memory would stay in the cool rune-decorated granite bowl for as long as he lived!

Morigan took his hand and approached. Her eyes expressed clearly the delight over this huge amount of trust of Harry's. It was somehoow as if he would allow her to open the gate to his young soul and walk around there freely and licenced to explore. She pushed her long ravenblack hair behind her ear and pointed his wand against her temple before she dipped it into the Pensiève's turning light grey fluide. Then suddenly she was absorbed.

The first thing Morigan felt when she entered the Pensiève was the proximity of someone in pain. 

It was not all-absorbing but present. The one in pain was clearly uneasy! Instead of entering the Salle du Chevaliere' at the arm of her cavalier she stood close to her uncle, upstairs in his rooms. Severus stood by the window in these old-fashioned forest green velvet dress robes he affectioned so much and which made him always look like his XVII. century ancestors of the portrait gallery. 

He had his sleeve pushed up, staring at the strange mark on his left forearm, the ugly thing - death skull with a snake - that had always been there and that he had never explained to her, no matter how often she had asked.

This is not important! Do not pay attention, it is just a strange tatoo!" 

After a while Morigan had given up asking. If it did not worry him, why should it worry her! Then she saw Myriam enter the room and his sleeve went down and she was suddenly with Harry at the Cats Table' in the Salle du Chevalier'. For a while she was observing herself chatting with the young man happily, enjoying a nice evening and each others company. She had all her time to explore the enamoured expression in the boy's green eyes. 

And suddenly she and Harry where gone and Morigan found herself next to someone running up a staircase in terrible haste, trying with all the power of his mind to contain an excruciating pain that ran through his body and emanated from a strange skull-and-snake tatoo. She stood by when Sev flung his dress robes carelessly on his bed, changing into a strange black outfit she had never seen before. It was not only an outfit! There was also this gory black hood with only two small holes for the eyes................She observed her habitually calm and relax uncle in a state of agitation she had never seen before. Pain fought with self control until self control won and made the athmosphere around so ice cold she thought herself down in the frost chambers close to Montmuran's kitchens. 

Morigan found it difficult to recognize the man she had called her favourite uncle for the last fifteen years under the black hood and robes. A frightening stranger disapparated with a pop' from the rooms high up in the Northern Tower to an unknown destination. Although the girl was by now totally unsettled, she was so fascinated by the Pensiève's tale that she decided to continue the journey. 

Together they landed somewhere out in the open air. There was wind and it was even colder then before. She stood on a lightning surounded by trees under the open sky, seeing other pops' transforming into black hooded creatures of the night. The air was sizzling with tension and anger. She kept close to the one hooded ghost she knew. It was unsettling to feel this strange mix of hatred, unrest, cold blood, self control and calculating mind by her side. She heard him mutter a series of spells in Latin. Most of it Morigan understood: Severus was building up a ward against something. It was a very old ward from another time, another world, something no modern wizard would use, because he would not even know about its existence. She simply translated the litany of Latin words her uncle said. He had always been an adept of the strange and the rare in the field of magic. 

When a frightening manifestation, who's evil and hatred made her freeze to her bones entered the circle of hooded creatures, Morigan stepped slightly back from Severus. His tension became unbearable and being close prevented her from observing the entire fascinating scene. 

One by one the hooded creatures fell to their knees and pleaded allegiance to the Dark One. She wondered if the proud, unbending man she had known all her life would be able to go to his knees. It was absolutely not his style. 

But when it came to Severus, he went down like all the others, only his hooded head was unbend and he spoke with a clear deep voice full of steel. It was so strange; she had never ever imagined that Severus voice could sound like a sharp edged sword! 

She suddenly realized that the unknown terrible Dark One and the man who used to be her uncle engaged in a strange combat: the issue of this fight would be either life or dead for him.....and he knew, he knew and he was frightened of that vicious game of survival that would bring him pain. But he was even more frightened of the humiliation that the Dark One could bring upon him! 

When the wand pointed at Severus she understood Crucio". The result of the curse on her uncle made her jump even further away from that strange group of three -a Dark One, him and a rat-man hidden behind the tormentor. The very moment the curse struck Severus and made his body shiver and tremble, Morigan was dragged into an abyss right through the strange, red and snake-like eyes of the Dark One. Together with Severus she penetrated the demon's mind. There was no light, no joy, no love, no understanding.........................only horror and lust. 

Morigan was by now unable to get away on her own. She was so deep inside the demon that she did not even realize how much the body of the man who had taken her on this strange journey suffered outside, how much he had to fight not to break and cry out his pain. It seemed endless. When she was extracted from the inner world of sheer terror she saw a shivering, silent heap of black robes on the ground. A familiar deep and soft voice murmured almost inaudibly a familiar spell, a spell to stay conscious although any normal man under the given circumstances would have taken his refuge in unconsciousness. 

The Dark One knew no mercy and Severus seemed so far over the edge that not even death would have made him give in with his stubborn combat against a pure manifestation of evil. Morigan was by now uncertain if she had ever truely known the heap of black fabric on the ground. He fought back like a wolf. It was his sheer hatred and contempt for the Dark One that made him go. He was hardly able to breath any longer and his heart was in the grip of an iron claw, but he resisted and she felt that he'd rather die the most horrible of deaths then give in even for a second and show weakness. 

The Dark One used his wand like a knife. It was so obvious that he took the utmost pleasure and satisfaction from his sadist act of opening those ugly scars. Morigan had always known Severus with these scars. She had never seen them, because even on the rare occasions the kids had been able to bully him into going for a swim with them, he had kept a t-shirt on, but she had felt them since she had first hugged her uncle - a mindless and thoughtless baby. 

Each and every scar the Dark One opened was familiar to her hands and fingers. She had always accepted that they were phantoms of Severus past linked perhaps to this strange job of his with general Fillon and the DGSE, but it was something simply not to be spoken off...........

Morigan shivered. She had the feeling that she would faint if she'd watch more of this horror. There was no longer any air around she could breat: Severus drew it with his pure, concentrate hatred and terrible combat to win a vicious game of survival; the Dark One destroyed it, because its demoniac evil burned the air of life! 

A tiny little bit of reason that was still alive in the girl's mind told her that she must leave this gastly scene immediately: It was inside a Pensiève and therefore belonged to someone's past..........to Severus past, but Sev had been very much alive only a few short hours ago during diner, together with his funny friends Yannick, Alain, Damien and Yvan. They had tugged their heads together as always, since she knew her uncle and by now they were certainly sitting around in the stone ring and discussing their 'important' stuff............... so she could take her leave at least with the assurance that in the end Sev must have won this terrible game against all odds and the demon, whenever he had played it in the past! 

It was now much more important to figure out, why this thought and descent to hell was buried in Harry's Pensiève!.....in Harry's Pensiève and Harry had nothing to do with it.

Potter looked absolutely terrified when Morigan left the Pensiève. He knew that it was impossible to drag someone out of these objects without harming the person that consulted the thoughts seriously. Pensièves held powerful magic!

Entering and leaving a Pensiève was a voluntary act and could not be guided by a simple byestander. He was fairly sure that it were not the happy thoughts he had put into his birthday present some time earlier that night that caused the state of agitation of Morigan's. There was something else! But he had to wait for her return to ask and get answers.

The girl was pale as ghost. 

She let herself drop on his bed, her breath going rapidely. A simple gesture of her small, slender hand made the boy patient until she had resettled herself and was willing to communicate with him again. It took a couple of minutes and the glass of milk on his bedtable before the girl started to speak. When she had fisished, Harry himself dropped next to her on the sheets in sheer terror. His face colour was as ghostly as hers. His right hand rubbed over the thunder-shaped scar on his forehead.

I think I can explain, Morigan! But this explanation will not solve the riddle of the horrible thoughts inside. It can only explain the why' not the what' you have seen!" He started in a trembling voice. 

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  



	35. A Soldier's Dilemma

Chapter 34 A Soldier's Dilemma  


When night gave way to the daylight, Harry had everything explained to Morigan; Halloween 1981, Voldemort, the flash of green light and the scar on his forehead. 

He had also told her about all these other moments of his life when through this scar he had seen and foreseen terrible things and he had come up with an explanation for the dreadful memory he had deposited in the Pensiève without ever have lived through it: The scar was his connection with the Dark One, but the very moment he would have felt and seen with his interior eye the ghastly scene that was now stored in the silvery liquid, he had been too much distracted by an overwhelming and happy feeling to have realised that there had been something else going on in parallel!

For Harry the indication was clear. The very night he had taken his ladylove down to diner, than for midnights walk and finally up to her bedchamber, Snape had been summoned by Voldemort. While Harry had been fortunate enough to be granted the privilege of exploring the pleasures of loving and being loved, Voldemort had summoned Severus for a descent to hell! 

Part of Harry's subconscious had been there too: Voldemort manifesting himself at close range! Severus Dark Mark activating with Voldemort's summoning of his faithful Death Eaters had probably been close range enough for Harry to feel his scar stitch, if.....................

You know Morigan, the very first evening at Hogwarts, right after the Sorting ceremony and during the feast it happened, too. I still remember as if it had been yesterday: I was starting to feel warm and sleepy from all the wonderful food and the excitement and I looked up at the High Table for no particular reason. Hagrid our gamekeeper, who also teaches Magical Creatures, was drinking deep from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Albus Dumbledore and Professor Quirell, whom I already met before coming to school while buying my stuff at Diagon Alley and whom I remembered well because of his absurd turban was talking to a teacher with long, greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin - the Hogwarts manifestation of your uncle's. It happened very suddenly. Severus - than the hook-nosed unknown teacher - looked past Quirell's turban straight into my eyes..........and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on my forehead. I cried out ,Ouch' and clapped a hand to my head. Percy Weasley asked me what it was and I replied ,Nothing'. The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling I got from Severus look......a feeling he did not like me at all, even without knowing me! But today and with all additional knowledge at hand, I do ask myself if the scar stitched because of Severus' Dark Mark, or because of Voldemort being close bye under Quirell's turban?"

Morigan gave a sigh, drawing the wool blanket a bit closer around her naked feet. It had been a most unsettling night; the memory she had seen in the Pensiève still hurt terribly inside her heart. She loved her uncle deeply and having seen him in such a terrible situation, being exposed to such an amount of pain and fear and hatred was unbearable for her. Standing near and watching and being unable to help.........because it was just a memory of something very real that had happened in the past or in parallel........ She had told Harry a little bit about the Severus she knew..........she had known for the past fifteen years of her life. Upon refection and putting now all the pieces of a puzzle together, she realised how surrealist everything was!

I never ever wondered why my uncle would be an officer in General Fillon's service and at the same moment teach Potions at a famous British school of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Sev's everything but certainly not trained in the art of teaching kids...... You see Harry, for me it was just normal to have him from time to time in his dark blue navy uniform, off for a trip to Paris and the next moment he'd be telling anecdotes about Hogwarts and Dumbledore and your whole lot. Our family is so very much rooted inside uniforms that it would have been stranger to see a male offspring of my grandfather's without a French Forces attire. They all wore or wear it one moment of their lives. Even my cousin Hadrian will now get into St.Cyr black........and I still play silly games of Quidditch with him! Can you imagine?"

I believe that I do not betray a secret if I tell you what I learned from Headmaster Dumbledore shortly before these holidays" Harry replied with a surprisingly firm voice. Many pieces of a puzzle he was considering for a bit more then four years now were shifting slowly into place and an opinion he had forged was about to crumble.

After the Triwizard Tournament and Cedric Diggory's death, Dumbledore informed a few of us that Severus worked as a spy against the Dark Lord already for a very long time and that he had taken great personal risks during the first war against Voldemort. It had been in the presence of the British Minister of Magic, Mr.Cornelius Fudge that Severus had shown his Dark Mark as proof of the return of Voldemort after all other means to convince that man had failed.......then after Fudge had left furious and with a menace to remove Dumbledore as Hogwarts' director, Severus and my godfather Sirius Black had been forced to make their peace, because with the situation of Voldemort back again, there was no more place for grudges between those fighting on the same side."

And how did it end, Harry. What came out from all of this?" Morigan asked intrigued by the strange tale.The Severus she knew was not a subject to boyhood grudges or terribly irrational behaviour. He was stable, balanced and rooted with both his feet firmly in Mother Earth.

Dumbledore sent Severus on a ,mission'........I do not know what this ,mission' was and never ever managed to figure it out, since your uncle was back in one piece with us to attend the End-of-Term banquet, but when Severus accepted this ,mission' from Dumbledore, he went as pale as a ghost. I have never ever before seen him so pale and with such a strange expression in his eyes..................I would not even consider fear or stress being part of a ,mechanical contrivance'! I always considered Severus 'not human' or something like this.... Well, I suppose what you have seen inside my Pensiève tonight is part of the explanation concerning his ,mission': Dumbledore has sent Severus back to spy on Voldemort, although the very moment he did so, the Headmaster and your uncle were not even fixed if Severus could even stand a chance to return alive and in one piece from the folds of the Dark One. I told you what Voldemort -the night of his resurrection in the graveyard - said concerning those Death Eaters, which were absent: One who has left me forever........he will be killed and one too cowardly to return.........he will pay!" 

Harry sniggered with unease Thanks Heaven, your uncle was the one, whom Voldemort simply considered a coward...............at least he's still alive and breathing! Anyhow, nobody not even Voldemort himself would have been able to disapparate from our school grounds in the middle of the Triwizard Tournament with hundreds of people and half the Ministry of Magic around, if he'd found himself in such an exposed position together with Dumbledore, McGonagall and the other members of the teaching staff in the Quidditch pit outside the maze...............I never thought of this before."

Morigan nodded. With her own father having been a soldier and having succumbed to the risks of his chosen profession during the Gulf War she had always been aware of the hazards that came with a uniform, but she had never actually rationalised that their wearers would be indeed ready and willing to accept 'missions' when they knew exactly and from the start, that they went against such.......odds. 

While her father's job in the Army had been easier to understand for Morigan - he was in command of troops - her uncle's had always been more of a mystery: He had done his conscript service, but after the two years he stayed with Commando Hubert" an elite assault unit of some 80 combat swimmers of the French Navy, he'd been talked into signing up on a contract by Claude Fillon. 

His unit that dated back to the II.World War and the Free French Forces and worked traditionally for the intelligence services. Commando Hubert' was skilled in many strange things and underwent a quite prohibitive training at Lorient that included basic airborne stuff like jumping with parachutes, combat diving, sniping, heavy weapons handling, unarmed combat and a lot of reconnaissance and infiltration, whatever that may be. She knew a bit what the DGSE, the main user of these commandos was and that they collected intelligence and that Severus himself had become part of a part of this institution that went out for collecting intelligence physically and not by means of analysis, reading papers, secret documents or strange photographs taken by satellites at the very edge of non-magic technology.

I admit that I have a certain clue about Sev's uniform job, but never any idea what it would really look like, Harry. You see, when someone works for and on behalf of his own country, they do not call him a spy, but an intelligence officer. That's quite a neutral word and since he was always in Potions and science, I always believed, he was doing kind of top secret research project or something like this.......................if you look at Sev's boss, General Fillon and if you get to know him, you'd hardly imagine that nice, kind man introducing himself with "Bond........my name's Bond!" and since my own uncle is more the brainy type who disappears with a book and nothing is heard of him for a forthnight............well, I always believed he just did his training when he was eighteen and then forgot about all this stuff and jumping out of airplanes, doing push ups like a madman or running through the mud and the rain with a heavy packup and a machine pistol....I suggest that it is be best if we get hold of Severus discretely, tell him everything and let him look into your Pensiève. Perhaps it is important for him to understand how something of his life can affect your thoughts and find its way into your Pensiève."

Harry nodded. It was more then important for Snape to see the memory inside the Pensiève. Hadn't Morigan been able to catch a look inside the Dark Lord's thoughts by ways of her uncle? 

Albus Dumbledore listened attentively to the conversation between Father Yannick Le Floa'ch of the Benedictines, his soon-to-be DADA teacher at Hogwarts and an elderly lady in blue robes, which designated her as a bard. 

Yannick seemed to feel very much at ease in this strange assembly of Breton druids, bards and ovates, Severus had convened to decipher the secret of the demon Voldemort. 

The elderly lady, whose name was Nol'wen explained to the Benedictine an ancient lore she knew. The lore explained how one of theirs discovered, challenged and battled successfully a demon. 

As far as Albus understood - courtesy of a skilful Breton language spell - the druid after several attempts to challenge the demon's desires, finally got him on a simple weak spot: The manifestation of evil similarly to a Dementor relished in sucking its victims souls. Therefore the druid suggested the demon a challenge. He would solve whatever riddle put before him successfully or abandon his soul to the Evil. The demon -obsessed with wining another soul gave his opponent an enigma to solve. It was terribly difficult and the quest for the solution took quantity of verses in the lore, but at the end the druid found out and confronted the Evil One with his reply. Since he was right, the demon could not refuse and admit his defeat and therefore weakness. In the end the Evil succumbed to the superior logic of good.

Severus," Dumbledore murmured "Is this just a paraphrase or can it be taken at face value?"

Hogwarts young Potions Master put on a weird smile Albus, everything is open to interpretation! Nol'wen simply underlines the fact, that Voldemort -being definitively a demon- must be challenged and caught by exposing to the Dark One his weakness so clearly, that he'll crumble, because he's confronted finally with the truth...........which means that he has been discovered and is therefore no longer dangerous to the one who pierces his secret!"

And you believe this?"

Snape rose his eyebrow in a very Snapish manner Sir, there is a lot of truth in the lore of old! If Nol'wen brings forward this very peculiar tale, you can take it, that she is sure that it will help us with our task. Bards do not sing for the pleasure of singing and good music.........it came to her in trance; the ring was consecrated, she was perfectly centred and rooted with our dead ancestors buried in the sacred grounds. The Gate between the three Worlds was open and Oghma(1) present with us. She circled over the fire burning on the altar. Brigit, patroness of Bards had been invited and I doubt that any of us missed his point. We are used to this ritual and having practised it for some thousand years gives us a certain experience!"

Oh Severus, can you ever do without your sarcasm?" Dumbledore murmured. The young one would never change. As if he'd ever doubted a fully trained druid's capacity to handle his own magic!

What I do need is just an explanation!"

Snape replied with a deep sigh This one, just take it at face value. Nol'wen is right! Since the Dark Lord has achieved his final transfiguration into a demon, he is now vested with immortality, but also with the defaults of being a pure manifestation of evil. He believes himself to be the most powerful wizard on the Earth and decided therefore that his ,master plan' for the take-over of first the magical community of Britain and then step-by-step, the magic and non-magic communities of the world, cannot fail. Have you ever before heard bigger bullshit? He's so much imbued with himself, that he'll slip the very moment, when he recognises that he was wrong!"

Bless your optimism, Severus." Dumbledore had never ever understood how the young one could still believe in such fairy tales; confront Voldemort with his deficiencies and he'll blow himself to pieces..................................that was to easy. 

But even the young one's boss, the muggle-general Claude Fillon, who had attended this first day of the ,gorseed' in full French Forces regalia and very much at ease in this strange and ancient community, seemed to believe Nol'wen's lore, although the man was most certainly neither magic, nor particularly credulous. He had asked a couple of very poignant, right-to-the-point questions......

I am not an optimist, Albus. Just a realist!" Snape put his hand on the elder man's shoulder and led him away from Le Floa'ch and the bardess.

Then you explain to me, but before doing this young man, you'll divulge your identity: Do I speak with Severus Aurélian Rogue de la Bédoyere the druid, the commando Hubert(2) or the philosopher?"  


Hell, let it be! You know exactly with whom you speak, Albus. But from a rational point of view -as a soldier of France, lend out to your bunch for the last fifteen years with the complicity of two Presidents of the Republic, one Minister of Magic and the great ,gorseed' of Brittany and ever since pretty much involved in your very British struggle with Voldemort, I'd endorse wholeheartedly that young Mister Potter is the obsession, not the weakness! And thanks to all gods for this!"

Which means that you'll stick your head together with your friends and Claude and you figure out a rough-and-ready method to eliminate one by one Voldemort's closest allies?"

Snape nodded. Although he wore his white ceremonial druids attire, his composure and behaviour reflected his other self, the military one.

I remember a time, not so long ago, when neither you nor Alastor Moody minded to much my employing ,Unforgivables'..................you seemed to be more interested in eliminating the last vestiges of Voldemort's first rule by rough-and-ready methods . My very peace of soul and mind was not a preoccupation of yours.......these ghosts have always been mine and mine alone. Sometimes you seem to forget that I must live with the blood I have spilt............... ." 

The eyebrows arched even higher then at Hogwarts and surrounded by some six hundred prankish students between 11 and 18 years.

Dumbledore's habitually kind, blue eyes turned suddenly cold: "As far as I know, that is what they thaught you in the Forces?"

Killing? Oh yes, most certainly, Albus ! You can consider me quite an expert on this subject." 

Snape was mightily upset with Dumbledore and his sarcasm. As much as he liked and appreciated his father's old friend, the man's cavalier ways of treating this issue as if it where simply the choice of a new manual for third years Charms lessons angered him. 

Albus strode Hogwarts' grounds the unblemished white wizard with the reputation of the personification of good, while he had been forced for the last decade and a half to shut up, swallow and accept to be treated by the entire wizarding world as a near-outcast, kept only for the sake of competence in potions but despised for who he had to be in the broad daylight: the ex-Death Eater, the perhaps still Death Eater, the dark wizard and adept of the Dark Arts. 

He had never complained about this, always accepted it as one necessary evil for the sake of his mission and cover, but this last remark of Dumbledore's was simply to much for him! There where moments, when Severus wished he could stand up in the Great Hall of this school to which he had become attached over the last decade almost against his will and shout into the sixhundred faces of his kids that he was not a nasty, ditty old bat, but a soldier who simply did his duty and tried to do it well! 

Just skip the dreadful black bat robes for one evening and go out there in his dark blue Navy uniform of a Capitaine de Vaisseau', silver parachutist wings, commando insignia, combat diver insignia, COS(3) insignia and the full range of decorations the République' had deemed to bestow upon him for exceptional services rendered including the prestigious Légion d'Honneur', Medaille de la Défense Nationale'and Croix de Guerre de Théatre d'Operations Exterieures'(4). Just to put things straight for once!

Severus. Please." Dumbledore had come after him and put his hand on his shoulder I am sorry for what I said. I did not mean it. Believe me, I understand perfectly that life is not always easy for you."

The young one gave a sigh of dispair. This was a typical British understatement! 

Life was indeed not always easy for him, but he had made it a habit never to complain and never to explain, since he'd accepted to play this game on his own free wil fifteen years ago and then had given in to go back to Dumbledore and Moody in 1985 although he had understood perfectly well that he'd be used by them to empty the hitlist' from those names of followers of Voldemort, who were either to hot for the aurors of the Ministry of Magic or in hiding. 

Of the inner circle he had taken out Travers, the killer of the McKinnons and Mulciber, whom he found after a long and difficult investigation living discretely in muggle London. Of those who had received the Dark Mark but did not belong to Voldemort's most trusted followers he had decimated a good dozen over the years........and send twice as much straight into Askaban and to the Dementors. Adding up the hitlist' with all the inncocent people he had to kill during his two years to the right of the Dark One, he had quite some blood on his hands. No orders from his authorities and no decoration would ever lift such a curse from his soul and conscience. 

Killing was not made easier or became more acceptable, just because the killer had a sheet of paper with an official signature and a stamp of the Ministry of Defence as justification for his acts!

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1. 1Ohgma, with the Celts, is a particular deity considered a Gate Keeper" between the Worlds. As all that is known about druid rituals comes from the sources of Roman historians, who followed the doctrine of Rome to exterminate the powerful political force that where the druids in Brittany, I cannot guarantee that they indeed invited Oghma to cross the veil between the three Worlds, but .............well, let's suppose they did! 

2. 2Serving with the French Secret Service DGSE ,Service Action', the most probable military past of Severus having being a combat diver would be as Commando Hubert" unit member. The picture on this page is their insignia. If I confounded you with his rank as ,Capitaine'in one of the earlier chapters; considering his age and his ,assignment' he'd be either ,Capitaine de fregatte' or ,Capitaine de Vaisseau', equivalent ,Lieutenant-Colonel' or Full Colonel as Army rank. 

Here a bit of the Commando's history:

The Commando Hubert" integrate "Marine Commandos" of COFUSCO (Commandement des Fusiliers Marins Commandos) who provide the French Navy with an elite special operations strike force. COFUSCO currently makes up the naval component of ,Commandement des Operations Spéciales (COS)', and conducts operations in support of French naval and intelligence services, primarily the DGSE (the French foreign intelligence directorate). During WWII the Free French government raised a number of elite and special operations units to strike at Nazi forces occupying Europe. One of these units was the 1ere Cie. de Fusiliers-Marins Commandos, which consisted of a group of former French naval personnel. Commanded by Commandant Philippe Kieffer, the unit was trained by British Commandos to conduct raids, amphibious operations, and reconnaissance missions along the European coastline. Upon completion of their training the men were assigned to the French troop of No.10 Inter-Allied (I-A) Commando. Later a second French troop, NO. 8 troop, was raised and added to the Commando. The two units were used as the core of the 1er Bataillon Fusiliers Marins Commandos. The unit conducted a number of operations though out the war. One of their more memorable operations is depicted in the film " The Longest Day". Between 1945 and 1947 six Commandos were raised and given the names of former Commando officers that had been killed in action. There was also a small unit raised late in war. Known as Commando Pochardier, after its commander at the time, the unit was slated for service in France's South East Asian colonies. The war ended before the unit could deploy and it was tasked with reoccupying French Indochina. During the French Indochina war the various Marine Commandos operated along the Annon coast, in the Mekong Delta, and in Tonkin. The Commandos conducted raids and amphibious operations against the Viet Minh guerrilla strongholds though out French territory. In 1953 Commando Hubert was converted into a combat diver unit while Commando Treppel and De Penfentenyo were deployed to Algeria. Commando Francois was converted to a reserve unit. After France's defeat by Viet Minh forces the Commandos were redeployed to Algeria. Upon establishing a new base of operations, the commandos immediately commenced combat operations against communist backed guerrillas; fighting for an independent Algeria. While conducted combat operations in Algeria, Commandos Hubert, De Penfentenyo, Jaubert, and Treppel were deployed to support the Anglo-French assault on the Suez Canal. With international pressure building to withdraw the invasion force, the commandos were forced to return to their Algerian base. Upon their return to Algeria, the commandos continued to conduct operations until France's withdrawal from Algeria in 1962. Since taking up residence in France, COFUSCO units have participated in every French military deployment. The assault commandos and Commando Hubert have been extremely active, with Commando Hubert undertaking a number of operations for the DGSE (The French Foreign intelligence service). COFUSCO security units accompany French naval units deploying to overseas ports and secure French naval facilities against attack. 

These assault commandos, a unit so secret that we had to attend 2001 to have a book published on them They are composed of approximately 80 men and are subdivided into four sections. Each section specializes in conducting a specific type of operation: assault, beach recon, HALO/HAHO, small boat, handling, combat diving, heavy weapons, sniping, etc. Teams from the various sections may be combined to execute a particular mission, depending on the circumstances. All aspiring Commandos are drawn from volunteers serving in French Naval units. The troops under go an extensive four-month training and selection course at Lorient, on the coast of Brittany, France. Upon successfully completing the basic selection course, the trainee will then undertake the French basic airborne course. Once this training is completed any survivors will receive a month of intermediate commando training. This training includes instruction in cliff assaults, rappelling, field training, and intensified physical conditioning. The final stage of training consists of instruction in conducting amphibious operations and small boat handling, while some men are selected to attend the French Combat Diver school. 

The Commandos have participated in numerous combat operations over the past few decades. Commandos have supported French peace-keeping operations, and conducted military interventions France's former African colonies. 

3. COS=Commandement des Operations Spéciales is France's equivalent of Special Forces. 

4. French military decorations. The Legion d'Honneur' is the highest decoration of the Republic. Three steps exist: Officier, Commander and Knight. It is a bit long and difficult to explain. For the two others a bit of familiarity with French Forces would be necessary, therefore allow the author not to extend herself in a pagelong exposé on France and Decorations. 


	36. Behind the Veil

Chapter 36 Behind the Veil

The tables in the  Medieval Garden were slowly filling  with blue  and green and white robes. Montmuran's house-elves had a  nice buffet and those  returning from the forest, the stone  ring and the first day of the 'Gorseed' honoured their work happily. Morigan took Harry by his hand.

'I have not seen Sev by now, but from the quantity of people already seated, it should not be long for him to appear.'

She ushered the boy over to a table where General Claude  Fillon was discussing with a group of  bards. He dug hungrily  into a nice plate of tuna salad, when Morigan tugged the sleeve of his uniform to get his attention.

'Oh, little Lady! I did not even say 'Hallo'  to  you, since my arrival  at Montmuran.'

The general replied cheerfully, excusing himself from the  conversation he was involved in and turning his attention to  the kids.

'And this should be Mr.Harry Potter?'

He offered the boy  a  firm handshake  and a benign smile from his kind brown eyes.

'Yes,  Sir. And I am pleased to  met you.' Young Potter replied politely.  Mori was right. This guy did not look like one to introduce himself with 'Bond, my name is Bond!' He looked rather like a small version of Hagrid with less unruly hair and a better taste for clothes. The general's hand was warm and callous.

'Have you seen Sev, Uncle Claude?'

Morigan gave Fillon a charming smile. She had no intention to let anybody question her, why she needed her uncle so urgently, although it  was a common deal with the kids, that the adults were not to be disturbed, when a 'Gorseed' was  held. Choosing Claude as her source  of information was  a  good trick; he was non-magic enough to reply without afterthoughts.

Fillon  pointed to the forest.

'He is still discussing with Professor Dumbledore, but they are on their way back. Would the two of you care for a seat with us?'

Morigan shook her head.

'We  will not disturb you, Uncle Claude! We sit over there with friends.'

She pointed a Cat's Table.

Fillon gave her a kiss on the check and padded Harry's shoulder before returning to his food and company. Morigan took the initiative of dragging Harry towards the forest.

'That comes in handy' the boy remarked 'Severus and Dumbledore together is what we need now.'

Before he could finish his sentence, a white and a burgundy red  robe appeared from between the green trees and the rising morning sun in the background. The two seemed deep in conversation and none of them had a tremendously  happy face. 

Harry shuddered. If Snape was in a sour mood, he'd perhaps remember Hogwarts  habits of  old and bark at them before letting them speak.

Instead of  returning to the role of frightening old bat, Severus face lightened up when he saw the two children. At least Albus would stop this silly conversation; he neither appreciated clumsy remarks about  how difficult his life was, nor stitches concerning his choice of methods when dealing with Death Eaters and other unfriendly remainders of Voldemort's first reign. His life was not difficult; he had made at choice and that was it……….

'Already up?' he asked Morigan and Harry with a smile 'It is hardly six o'clock in the morning.'

Morigan gave Dumbledore a strange look. She knew him and he was Pappie's friend, but she wanted first to have a word with Sev.

'What's  up, lassie?' Snape looked at her with some interest. 

'Well,' she motioned him to bend down, so she could whisper in his ear.

Dumbledore grinned and shook his head. That kid was a nice copy of  Severus himself. Female version. And from what her mother Amalthea had told him, the little star of her class  at Beaubaxtons in Potions! Wouldn't trust anybody outside the family. 

Harry shrug his shoulders and gave the Headmaster an awkward smile. Although he had 100% confidence in Dumbledore, in this particular case politeness required to ask the one concerned first, before spilling out the contents of the Pensiève.

'Strange?  Let's have a look.' Snape replied to his niece's whispered statement. Then he turned to Harry 'You allow Albus into the 'secret', too? The Pensiève is yours!'

Harry nodded '…..but it is your memory, Severus.'

Snape shook his head dismissively ' Harry, shit happens. You've met that bastard, too.  Although I do appreciate your respect for my privacy in this specific case very much, Albus will be less shocked from what you'll show him then the two of you certainly were…………and I do not mind him seeing it. But I have no clue how this could happen…….nevertheless if the memory inside is what Morigan described………………….you may have saved me another dangerous trip into that tormented brain of Voldemort's!'

Harry could not hide his surprise. Snape spoke with him, as  if  he were a grown up, almost an equal. He asked him to allow Dumbledore use the Pensiève instead of overruling an underage pest and prankster with no sense of responsibility, Hogwarts style. There was no sarcasm, no menace, no gnarl……..just equal to equal.

'Professor Dumbledore may look into  the Pensiève, too. If you do not mind,  I do not mind Severus, ….and if this helps us against Voldemort …..' 

Harry gave his Potions Master a questioning look that spoke for itself.  After Mori had told him what she had seen, he had also made the trip. They had been up for the whole night, trying to figure out what was in the magic object, how it had come there and also……..since the boy had seen the bunch of Death Eaters before at the cemetery at Voldemort's 'Resurection Party', if he could figure out some of the unnamed followers present. He had been as shocked as the girl from the Dark Lord's cruelty and cold blooded torturing as well as from the diffuse evil thoughts in Voldemort's brain. The look he gave Severus asked clearly, if the bat was o.k.

Snape gave  him a small reassuring nod before he showed them away from the Medieval Garden and into the staircase  that led to his rooms in the Northern Tower. He would never have said it aloud, but the fact that the kid cared touched him. 

'Fetch the Pensiève, Harry and then come upstairs to my rooms with Morigan.'

Hardly ten minutes later the youngsters stated in surprise, that the wards between the Guesclin Chamber and Severus rooms were gone. The enormous heavy oak door swung magically open and allowed them into a  living with high ceilings and a beautiful view over the Brocéliande valley and its enormous lake. 

Harry had always relished in the believe that the gitty, nasty old bat would love cold, gloomy and windowless dungeons, without any comfort. He was therefore truely surprised to find himself in a friendly room full of bookshelves and green plants with comfortable furniture and soft carpets. An  interesting quantity of various magic and muggle cat's toys was spluttered all over the carpets and the huge Norwegian Forest Cat  Marie they had portkeyed from Hogwarts played lovingly with a fake fur mouse in a corner of the room, while the stately and arrogant raven who had delivered Harry's birthday present, sat on a chest of drawers with a piece of parchment clutched between his claws, destroying the parchment happily. The  floor underneath was already covered with confetti-size shreds. 

There were lots of  old marine paintings on the walls and  on an old-fashioned low cupboard Harry saw several wooden ship models, an old sextant, a compass and other naval stuff.  Besides potions, harps, pets, his family, Myriam  and green plants, the gitty old bat seemed pretty fond of everything maritime. Most of the books on the shelves covered this issue, too…….and Potter distinguished even some piles of books that strangely resembled muggle comics. A  beautiful harp stood in a corner of the living together with piles of notes on a low table.

Morigan, who obviously was not the first time  in her uncle's room pointed a wand at a small table and made it move between some worn but comfortable dark brown leather seats close to the balcony. 

Harry stopped staring at the room and put the Pensiève on the table between the seats, shortly before Severus reappeared from another room. The top of the Northern tower with more then 200m² was spacious like a large flat and  various doors indicated several rooms other the living and a chamber. Snape's  strange white robes were gone and the young Potions Master looked his habitual Montmuran self in washed-out muggle jeans, a t-shirt and his long black hair back in a pony tail. He shot an amused look at his raven, who continued the joyful destruction of  parchment, before placing mugs and a pot of coffee on the table, next to the Pensiève.  From nowhere a plate of 'croissants', 'pain au chocolate' and 'chausson de pommes'[1]  appeared with a wish of his hand.

'Well Albus, I suggest you have a look, since I was present at this meeting and the kids have already seen everything.' Snape fetched a pastry and pushed the plate over to Harry and Morigan who dug in immediately.  Their night had been as  long as the night of the grown ups.

Dumbledore nodded. He pointed his wand at the liquid until it started to produce circles, then he plunged his mind into Harry's Pensiève. While the Headmaster visited the memory, the three others sipped their coffee in companionable silence, digging into  the pastries and munching happily, what Severus repetitive swishes of hand produced on the plate. After a very long moment the Headmaster re-emerged from the memory. There was an expression of triumph in his face.

Snape dropped his fourth 'chausson au pommes' and threw him a questioning glance.

'You were right, Severus!' Dumbledore looked extremely pleased 'Voldemort is obsessed with a very basic lust for power, unlike Grindelwald who had a sophisticated 'programme' and very firm convictions.'

'And?' Snape rose his eyebrows into a high questioning arc 'How comes that my memory is in Harry's Pensiève?'

The kids put down their coffee pots, fixing the Headmaster, too.

'Only a theory, Severus but it could be………………well, we will have to tell young Harry a few things first, if you agree!'

Snape's eyebrows rose,  while the 'Boy-who-lived' looked  puzzled and forgot a half-eaten 'croissant aux amandes'.

'What do you want to tell Harry?' Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm. Dumbledore had forbidden him (and his family) to explain lots of things to young Mister Potter, although there was nothing terribly queer or secret in this knowledge. Druids were no longer common in England, but in France……………….the whole Medieval Garden was full with druids and half the country was covered with stone rings, megaliths and dolmen. Although not wizards as to the classic definition of 'wizard', druids were esteemed members of  the magic community of the whole European continent, from Sibiria's antiquate 'shaman' version to the classic communities in France, Spain and Portugal. He had never ever understood, why Albus did keep this issue so much under a veil of secrecy! As if raising thunder and rain was a particular forbidden gift…..

Dumbledore threw Snape a terrible glance. The young one and his dripping sarcasm…….and he always wanted to be right in the end! 

'You may explain whatever you consider necessary,  Severus and………if you care for my advice; explain although a certain night, even if you'd  rather forget this part of the story.'

Harry looked even more puzzled, but kept his mouth shut for the moment. A piece of croissant helped him with this difficult task.

'You think, this  is the reason……..'

Dumbledore cut the Potion's Master ' Severus, I believe this is  exactly the reason, why your memory found its way into Harry's  Pensiève and if I  am not totally wrong,  he could monitor you the same way, when Tom Riddle activates your Dark  Mark next time.'

Snape's reaction to Dumbledore's reply was unexpected. He smashed  his mug on the table and jumped from his seat, putting his arms protectively around Potter's shoulders 'Keep him out of this, Albus! Let it be. No!' The soft, deep voice was  suddenly menacing. Obsidian black eyes fixed the Headmaster's sparkling blue one's.  

Dumbledore shook of Severus'  dark stare. He knew that hot temper too well to be impressed. 'First we explain, then Harry shall decide himself.' He proposed in a  conciliatory way.

'With all his damned Gryffindor bravado……………..oh no, Albus. Do not play this nasty trick on me.'

Young  Potter took some minutes to recover from the shock: The gitty  old bat was protecting him. So it was obviously true  that Snape did not hate him, although he could  not  refrain from making nasty remarks about Gryffindors and bravado. Harry's brain commanded the boy to shut up and for once trust a grown up even if that grown up looked like Hogwarts Potions Master. But after a short moment his heart and tongue won the sprint to the finish. 'I would rather hear everything and then decide myself, Severus!' The little Gryffindor devil had commanded tongue and heart to be firm and loud.

Snape gave a desperate sigh  and shock his head, Dumbledore grinned from one ear to the other, Morigan sipped her coffee, hoping to  have some light shed into this mysterious exchange.

'We have about three hours until the 'Gorseed'  resumes, Albus. May I suggest a separation of tasks,' Snape had let go of Harry's shoulders and dropped back into his comfortable seat. The coffee mug refilled at  a swish of his hand with expresso and floated obediently in the air.

'Speak, Severus!'

'Since Harry has a very particular relation with you, may I propose that you tell him the whole story including that specific night, while I take the Pensiève and show it to our expert on Satanism  and my  'colleagues'? And since Morigan had a look into that damned memory too, perhaps you'd allow  her to listen so she may understand what she saw……..' 

Before Dumbledore could even reply, Snape had already summoned his raven. Cicero  sat attentively on his shoulder, listening to a long list of tasks in Breton. When the proud animal flew of, Snape gave Albus  a cunning grin, stood up and left through the main entrance  of  his chambers, disappearing downstairs.

The Headmaster of  Hogwarts was too surprised to react.  He shook his head in despair. Then he  poured himself a mudg of coffe and started with  a strange tale. 

Harry and Morigan listened  in silence. Only  Marie's victorious 'Miaus' when she jumped on her toy mouse interrupted a long and strange story.

  


* * *

[1] 


	37. The Prisoners of Askaban

****

Chapter 37The Prisoners of Askaban

Walden McNair entered the cell accompanied by two Dementors. It was a dreadful sight. Even a heart so hardened by life and circumstances could not refrain from beating violently. 

The smell was unbearable. In a corner, McNair's eyes distinguished a heap of thorn robes. The creature on the barren soil had nothing human any more. Long hair full of lice and fleas, a crust of dirt over an emaciate face. Rabastan Lestrange could be hardly called human any more. Not even the two Dementors made him react any longer. The formerly powerful wizard was reduced to nothing more then a vegetable after thirteen years in Askaban.

McNair asked himself the silent question if death would not be a more merciful fate then this crafty escape from hell. But Voldemort wanted them alive: They had been faithful to the end. 

Bellatrix Lestrange had been already extracted from her cell and taken to a carefully hidden boat in a bay on Askaban's eastern shore where nobody would ever expect a landing. She had been a skeleton, unable to pronounce a word, her eyes seemed blind by this long seclusion in a place where daylight never permeated, but she gave an impression of better physical condition then her husband.

McNair motioned the dirty piece of rags to one of the Dementors. The creature bent down and lifted the light frame from the dirty soil. The executioner of Magical Creatures and devote Death Eater was happy that the chores to accomplish to make this escape a perfect hoax for the Askaban administration did not befall him.

The Dementor outstripped Lestrange of his filthy robes and covered his emaciate frame with a blanket. Then he disappeared into the night and down to the boat in the secretive bay they had chosen. Another hooded creature appeared with an undistinguishable male body. 

As soon as the substitute was covered in Lestrange's filthy robes, the Dementor placed the stand-in in front of a wall, fetched his head with his rotten hands and smashed the skull several times forcefully into the granite stone of the prison cell. As soon as he could be sure that not even his mother would recognize that substitute or put in doubt the identity that was written down in the Ministry records for cell 475, the Dementor let the body go and disappeared wordlessly. 

McNair followed him, closing the iron wrought door with a skilful spell. He pulled his invisibility cloak close over his body and left the Askaban prison wing destined to those imprisoned on irrevocable life sentences undetected. The way down to the boat and the bay was easy; not even the maddest dog on the guards' personnel of the notorious wizards' prison would venture outside during a stormy night like this. McNair's boat would take them simply to an uninhabited Island of the Orkneys, where everything including a mediwizard and a competent nurse had been established for the freed couple. 

While carefully crossing the wooden bridge that led him onto the boat, the executioner mused if Rabastan and Bellatrix would be re-established in their former lead positions within the Inner Circle of Voldemort, should they ever recover from their long detention in Askaban. 

Obviously Malfoy and Snape had taken their places greedily, as soon as the two were captured by aurors during an operation in Scotland. The target had been a high-ranking Ministry of Magic Official and his family. But when Rabastan and Bellatrix arrived with their team of killers, the prospective victims were gone and replaced by two dozen of the most experienced members of Moody's service. McNair could not refrain from asking himself, if Voldemort's two rising young stars had not set up that whole affair and the trap together in order to get rid of the Lestranges. 

Suspiciously neither Malfoy nor Snape had been officially in England during the disaster: Lucius was supposed to take a holiday with his young wife Narcissa somewhere in Italy and Severus figured on a speakers' list of an illustrious conference of Potions Masters in Prague. Nobody ever had cared to check these alibis out, but to Walden McNair it had been suspicious and thirteen years of time did not diminish the nasty feeling as to Malfoy's and Snape's dangerous ambition.

'In war as in war!' 

The executioner appeased himself silently before disappearing under deck. Although a member of the Inner Circle his position was neither high enough nor of interest to the 'Dream Team'. He did not feel himself endangered by these two…….and hopefully they would never come close: Malfoy and Snape were extremely powerful dark wizards, second only to Voldemort himself and the show Hogwart's Potions Master had given during the last summoning had been quite impressive. Dare and look into the Dark Lord's eyes, while Voldemort punishes you for disobedience! Snape had always been proud and arrogant and full of courage. Already in the old days before the Potter incident he'd hardly ever bend his head in front of the Master and although many a follower had been killed by Voldemort on the spot for this type of insubordination, the greasy bastard was still alive……and back in the good graces of the Lord himself..….

Although the smell of the two former prisoners of Askaban was revolting, Walden McNair insisted himself in surveying them. He had no intention to attract Voldemort's wrath. The last display of power of the Dark Lord had been sufficient to make him yearn for nothing but a complete success. Thirteen years of absence had but heightened the Dark One's inclination to torture and maim. Notwithstanding the fact that the Ministry executioner shared this specific sadistic delight with his Master, he preferred to not finding himself at the receiving end.

In forty-eight hours he would return to the gory prison island with the same boat. But this time his cargo would be less smelly: The chieftain of the Dementors expected payment for the unconditional co-operation of his clan in the liberation of two of the most notorious dark wizards England had produced in the Twentieth Century. He expected the children…………..and McNair was only too happy to free the dungeons of his ancestral home of this noisy, crying and whining burden. He needed space for more 'valuable goods' soon. The success of his mission to forge a lasting alliance with the Dementors depended now fully on his capacity to please the terrible Chieftain!

Although she had greeted him by his name, the lady at the 'Deutsche Bank' in Central Cologne asked the client immediately for his passport. 

Lucius observed the whole scene carefully. He had to withdraw a large sum in cash and did not intend to make the slightest mistake. 

France had been an easy affair, since Malfoy spoke the language fluently and had been to Paris and the Côte d'Azur from early childhood for holiday trips or culture or simply for shopping with his darling Narcissa. But Germany was another piece of cake. It was his first trip to the other side of the Rhine and he relied on a heavy 'Lingua Spell' that requested concentration and since his muggle ID papers declared him Robert G.Bell, UK citizen he had to take care of an Anglo-Saxon accent in his German, not to arise any unnecessary attention.

The customer declared that he wanted to withdraw 15.000 Deutsche Mark in cash. The bank lady made him sign a habitual money withdrawal form and another sheet of paper Lucius could not identify from his position at the Insurances and Placements information desk. All he saw was that the guy looked slightly embarrassed.

'Sie verstehen, das wir bei einem solchen Betrag verpflichtet sind, die Behörden zu informieren. Das Gesetz wurde zwar nur geschaffen, um Geldwäsche zu unterbinden und Gelder aus illegalen Transaktionen, wie Drogenhandel oder Prostitution zu identifizieren, doch ich bitte Sie trotzdem um Ihre Unterschrift Herr Götze, auch wenn ich genau weiß, das Sie ein ehrlicher Geschäftsmann sind!'

Lucius gave a small sigh: Indeed they had a law to control dirty money and the bankers declared huge cash withdrawals. They informed the law enforcement authorities just in case………

Herr Götze the German businessman shook his head and signed the paper with a subdued expression in his eyes. Indeed, he did not look like a drugs dealer or a Mafioso! Lucius Malfoy decided to play that one carefully and with cunning. When Herr Götze had left the lady with his 15.000 DM in cash, the dark wizard approached her counter. He put on his most charming smile.

'Can I help you, Sir?' The bank employee asked obligingly.

Lucius took his best British-who-speaks-some-German accent.

'I'd like to open an account with your bank and deposit 1000 £. I was told that having a bank account would lower the fees for currency exchange.'

'Indeed, Sir.' The lady replied. She passed Malfoy a paper and asked him to fill it in.

'And please do not forget to mention, if you are a resident or a non-resident in Germany!' She gave him a smile. 'If you are a UK Tax payer…'

Lucius did not understand fully what she tried to explain, but his guts told him to reply 'Yes, I am a UK Tax payer!' He finished to fill in the papers, gave Robert G.Bell's authentic address in Kent and signed. Finally the lady informed him, that he could opt for a credit card from the bank and free money withdrawals at their banking machines.

Malfoy thanked her and left the Deutsch Bank. He went straight to a coffee shop and ordered a strong espresso. Indeed, Germany would be a harder bet then France. Before he'd do something silly, he'd take the time to get more information about this strange law on dirty money. 

One address on Voldemort's list was that of a small investment company in Bonn, hardly 40 km from Cologne. He'd start there. Perhaps these money brokers, who had already accepted money of undisclosed origin from Tom M. Riddle about 15 years ago where less law-abiding then the famous Deutsche Bank. Perhaps he could convince or bully them into assistance. He drank his coffee and made off to the City Park. He needed a place for discrete apparition to Bonn. 

In the early evening he had checked into a nice hotel by the river Rhine. From his room he made a call with this terrible muggle telephone to arrange for an appointment with the investment firm. 

He'd given the gentleman from 'Berling&Feucht Associates' a short outline concerning his power of attorney and the funds he intended to withdraw. He'd also placed a hint that he was in fact under commission by his client to find a better placement for the sum. The trick had worked. One million and eight hundred thousand Deutsche Mark plus interests for 15 years of deposit were quite an amount and it would certainly hurt such a small firm to lose a client and this kind of long-term placement. 

The man on the phone had been one of the two associates, Mr.Berling himself and he had instantly suggested to Malfoy to discuss the matter over diner. Perhaps his own firm could propose something? Lucius threw a glance at his wristwatch. They'd agreed to meet at 20 h at the Restaurant 'Rheinterasse' for a business diner. This left him an hour to relax and to think. 

Dr.Dieter Weigold of the 'Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz', the German counterintelligence with seat at Cologne threw the police officer 'Kriminalhauptkommissar' Hans Kolmsee a curious look. 

The two men had been friends since their conscript service in the 'Bundeswehr' the German Armed Forces during the mid-1960ies, but habitually they did not met on a professional basis, since Kolmsee was involved with Forgery, Counterfeits, transfer of dirty money on an international level and all the other issues that were covered by his 'Department for International Economic Crime'. Weigold covered something totally different! While Hans worked with Interpol and spend most of his time analysing evidence on paper or putting info through sophisticate computer programmes, Dieter could be hardly ever found in his Cologne office. He roamed the Federal Republic from the East to the West and from the North to the South.

As a matter of fact, Dieter Weigold had never before entered his friend's office at the 'Bundeskriminalamt' in Wiesbaden. Habitually the two met for diners and garden parties, they pursue together the hobby of making tin soldiers and models of ancient battlefields or they spend their weekends on flea markets to hunt down old books. Often they'd simply decide to take their spouses for holidays together, somewhere in Tuscany or in the South of France. 

'And what makes you believe that a phonecall from a hotel at Bonn to a investment company of bad reputation could be of interest to me, Hans?' The broad shouldered bald man gave his expensive and well-tailored black suit a negligent brush with his hand before he accepted the proposed seat in Kolmsee's office.

'Well,' the policeman started 'the story is a bit long, but you should listen carefully and you will understand….We received a request from France. A very strange request, since it did not come from their police or via Interpol, but directly from the DST Counterintelligence Service. They asked us if we could have a close look on huge money retreats in cash from accounts that have not been touched for at least 13 years, starting with October 31st 1981. These accounts could be under any name in the world, but there was a possibility that the name of Tom M.Riddle or Tom Marvolo Riddle, UK citizen…… would appear. Now this investment firm 'Berling&Feucht Associates' has only three clients, all of them are not residents of Germany. Client Nr. 1 is an American arms merchant who lives habitually at Nice at the Côte d'Azur and who uses this investment company to deposit commissions from deals in Africa. He is the client whose account works constantly. We know that he is frequently employed by the US Central Intelligence Agency to provide 'friends' with handy equipment from the semi-black markets in Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union. Client Nr.2 is a diamonds merchant from Anvers in Belgium. He is clean! His account is used for deposits from German jewellers who buy his stones at gems auctions in Germany. Client Nr.3 is the interesting one and here it comes, that I believe this is business of yours, my dear friend!'

Dr.Dieter Weigold took a sip from the coffee mug an attentionate secretary had placed in front of him. His brown eyes sparkled lively. Already the Nr.1 from these 'Berling&Feucht Associates' sounded like a good cloak and dagger story and he loved cloak† stories. 

'Tell me, Hans? Who's the mysterious Client Nr.3 and why should he be mine?'

Hauptkomissar Kolmsee played with the ends of his 'Kaiser-Wilhelm' moustache, as was his habit, when plotting. He looked like a cunning, grey old cat. His half-glasses sat on the outer end of his long nose and his blue eyes fixed Weigold's brown ones.

'Client Nr.3 is a certain Tom Marvolo Riddle, UK citizen. The money is with 'Berling&Feucht' since 1979. The account operated lively until exactly 31st October 1981. No retreats, only deposits. Then it went dead and today we intercept by accident a phone call from the attorney of this Mr.Riddle who wants to retrieve all 1.800.000 DM plus 15 years of interests on the account in cash. You imagine how all the bells went ringing in this office! My people have the firm under observation…….. because of that US arms merchant……..there has been money transfers to very strange people with an even stranger background in the former Soviet KGB and who are reputed to sell………………………..well, forget this part Dieter! This is really too hot…….So it is a mere hazard that I had this information. Nevertheless one of my youngsters did a bit more then her job and instead of passing the name of Riddle through our computers only, she snooped around: That Riddle man has several other accounts in Germany that stopped operating all exactly at the same 31st October 1981 and all these accounts carry huge amounts of money…... Since this young collaborator of mine is very nosy, she instantly enquired with our British colleagues who Tom Marvolo Riddle is…………..and now this becomes your case, Dieter!'

Hans Kolmsee pushed the print button of his PC and his printer started to spit out paper.

'I told you, that request was send out by one of my youngsters ……….Scotland Yard somehow got the girl wrong and instead of going through tax records or bank stuff scanned her a giant file from ……………..1945. They believed her to do research for an exam or something: You know, we take sometimes lawyers after their 1.State Exam for the practical year in Penal or Administrative Law. Now my young lady is nosy as I told you and she devoured the info from London………'

Dieter Weigold smiled. Then he picked up the first print out pages and started to read: On a fine summer morning, at daybreak, hardly two months after the signature of the capitulation of Nazi Germany at Reims on 8th May a house maid to a certain Riddle Family of Little Hangleton entered the drawing room of her employers to find them all stone dead on the floor. The maid had run screaming down the hill into the village and roused as many people as she could.

'Lying there with their eyes wide open! Cold as ice. Still in their dinner things.' She had screamed.

The police were summoned and the whole of Little Hangletons had seethed with shocked curiosity and ill-disguised excitement. Nobody wasted breath pretending to feel very sad about these Riddles. They had been most unpopular. Elderly Mr. And Mrs. Riddle had been very rich, snobbish and rude, and their grown-up son Tom had been even more so. 

All the villagers cared about was the identity of their murderer. Plainly, three apparently healthy people did not all drop dead of natural causes on the same night.

To make a long story short: Suspicion fell upon a certain Frank Bryce, the Riddle's gardener, a man who'd come back from the war with a stiff leg and a strange behaviour that clearly indicated sever battle trauma stress syndrome. 

As to the Riddle's cause of death, the doctors had no clue: A team had examined the bodies and had concluded that none of them had been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled, suffocated or physically harmed at all. They had been in perfect health, apart from the fact that they were dead! 

In fact the report continued in a tone of unmistakable bewilderment that each of the Riddles had a look of sheer terror upon his or her face - but as the frustrated police said, whoever heard of people being frightened to death?

Since there was no proof of these Riddles being murdered, the police were forced to let the gardener –Frank Bryce – go. And although the whole village behaved towards that strange guy as if he were the culprit, Bryce stayed on, tending the garden. 

The Riddle House was sold, with Bryce in a certain sense. But none of the new owners ever stayed for long. Each new owner said there was a nasty, haunted feeling about that place, before they left. These facts had all found their way into the 'Riddle Triple Murder – Case Unresolved' file of Scotland Yard Archive. 

The house – in absence of inhabitants - started to fall in disrepair, but the Bryce man as gardener stayed on. Finally it was sold to a person who did not intend to live there, but used the manor as a means for tax deduction. Nevertheless he also kept Bryce. And there the intriguing file the Federal German Police BKA Department of Frauds, Counterfeits and Money-Laundering Prevention had received from their UK colleagues became really strange. A slim endnote concluded the 'Riddle Enigma'. It was dated August 1994: Bryce, the gardener had been found dead in the former Riddle drawing room one morning, his eyes wide open, terror written all over his face. The forensics had not been able to determine his cause of death, but also excluded a heart attack, a reason that had not been explored with the three bodies of 1945! 

'And now Tom Riddle, a person who according to this file died in the summer of 1945 has send out a man with a power of attorney to clear up his bank accounts? Well indeed, Hans. That's mysterious enough to be a case for me!' 

Dieter Weigold concluded his lecture of the Scotland Yard file. He was the Head of a very secretive and curious service inside the German counterintelligence: Everything that could not be explained with logic, reason, science or common sense – UFOs, apparitions, haunted houses, ghosts and else – was directed to his office and table. 

Almost all countries of the world had somewhere in their Law Enforcement Services an entity like this and the famous television series 'The X-Files' was not so remote from reality, as many good and law-abiding citizens believed, when switching on their TV in amusement to follow Mr. Mulder and Mrs. Scully hunting down inexplicable phenomena or creatures from outer space. In France for example, such a unit was situated at the Ministry of Air at Place Balard. Its name was as obscure as the job they did there: 'Service des Prospections'………….but Dr.Weigold was not only in contact with these people. 

'Hans, if you allow me to take the file, I'd be grateful. Please inform your intern that she did an excellent job!'

Weigold lifted his huge, muscular frame from the comfortable seat and gave his old friend a firm handshake.

'Dieter, I'll do all the paper stuff to transfer that case to your service as from this evening. Nevertheless………………..I'd appreciate if you'd tell us the outcome. Since you know that me and my youngsters, we are a terribly nosy bunch!'

Weigold acknowledged with a nod. The file securely stored in his attaché case, he left the BKA building at Wiesbaden and disappeared in a close-by park. 

A small glance at his wristwatch indicated that he had exactly 15 minutes to apparate to Bonn and the 'Restaurant Rheinterasse' where the meeting between the mysterious attorney Robert G. Bell of the officially defunct Mr.Tom Marvolo Riddle and the investment banker Mr. Berling of 'Berling&Feucht Associates' would take place. 

Dieter had listened to the BKA tape only with half an ear before reading the file 'Riddle Triple Murder', but with the full knowledge he held now and a clear perception who was hiding behind Tom Marvolo Riddle, he simply needed to speed up. 

Weigold was not only Head of the strangest service of German counterintelligence…………..he was also a wizard!


	38. Secrets

Chapter 37   Secrets 

Harry was slightly shocked, when Albus Dumbledore finished his explanations concerning the fatal night at Goddrick's Hollow. He had his own memories of what had happened inside the house. Now he had to accept that there was someone else, who had tried to save his and his parent's life at the prize of his own. 

After Voldemort's defeat Harry had become the celebrity of Great Britain's wizarding world; the  'Boy-who-lived', the baby that had defeated the most powerful dark lord in the history of the country. 

Severus was simply thrown into Askaban for a Dementor's Kiss without a process, without questions asked, although over two long years his activity as a spy inside Voldemort's organisation had prevented countless wizards from preceding Lily and James Potter to their graves. All these people, including Harry himself and who owned their survival to Snape's activity as a spy had never ever known whom to thank for their lives.

'Why?'

The boy's voice was almost inaudible. Morigan sat by his side and held his hand in hers. 

Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders. 

When the British High Council of Magic had approached a brilliant young wizard with a reputation for powerful magic and good brains in 1938 almost immediately after Chamberlain's failure with the nasty muggle dictator Adolf Hitler at Munich, he had considered their request an honour, a sign of the trust of his peers. 

Only after he had seen the true face of battle and the ugly features of a silent and secret war fought in the shadows and in the dark, he had lost his illusions and pride in his important mission. 

While relating Severus' story to the two youngsters, the memories of these days became clear again before Dumbledore's inner eye. He had banished them for so long now, hidden them away in a distant part of his brain, behind a well-warded door he had hoped never to open again in his lifetime. 

The enthusiasm of the first days of the fight against Grindlewald quickly gave way to cynicism and self-loathing. Although Albus had understood that his personal sacrifices were of the utmost importance to the whole wizarding community and even to the muggles, he despised himself for each and every of his actions. 

There had been too many dead bodies on the road to Grindlewald's final defeat; too much blood of innocent and guilty alike was shed. In order to vanquish the Dark, he had been obliged to allow his own dark side out of the shadows of his conscience and moral values. 

In order to beat a dangerous monster, Albus had become for  a  while a dangerous predator himself!

After the final defeat of Grindlewald, the suicide of Hitler and the end of that war, he had been so disgusted, that he'd attempted to take his life the very moment, the entire wizarding world considered him a hero, a white knight in shining armour.

The Headmaster knew only to well that Severus bore similar scars of attempt self-destruction. A lot of his behaviour at Hogwarts, where the young one carried his 'war personae' like a never ending burden was by now rooted in reality more then in theatricals and a great gift for acting. 

Severus sarcasm and dark moods were real. His worst moments with the children or the teachers often followed days and nights away from the save  heaven of the school……..time-outs from his cauldrons, research and the teaching, days and nights he chose not to speak off, when he  would  transform into something very dangerous and unpredictable, although his transformations were never related to the cycle of  the moon………………….. 

Habitually at  the end of such a transformation it came down to a simple visit of Dumbledore's office, were the young one would give him a name or an emotionless report on intelligence, he'd collected. Cold facts and nothing more!

Then Severus would disappear from the world of the living for as long as his obligations towards Hogwarts or his mission would allow. In all those years Albus had never found out, where he went or what he did to dull his brains and conscience. Severus never explained and never complained.  

Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders again in reply to Harry. 

'Why? This is a question probably never to be answered, my dear child! A man's decision to do such things is very personal and I am not sure that Severus would ever be willing to give away the true reason why he had acted in such a manner at Goddrick's Hollow or why he does certain things, he hates to do. He'd beguile you with words like 'orders', 'duty', 'mission' or else or he'd simply turn away and leave this room. My experience is that none risks his own sanity and skin for someone else or a cause simply because a higher political or military authority orders him to do it!'

'And why did you and Moody allow the Ministry of Magic to throw Severus into Askaban like a criminal instead of cleaning his name and honour immediately after Halloween Night 1981 and Voldemort's destruction?'

That was the second point beyond Harry's comprehension. Albus Dumbledore whom the boy admired and loved for his sense of justice had allowed an innocent man been thrown into the mud and trampled, almost to the point of having him killed. 

Severus had been hardly older then Harry when he'd accepted to take the Dark Mark to infiltrate Voldemort's group of terrorists.  

It was cruel to do such a thing to any human being! It was even worse to do it to someone you liked and appreciated.  

Since Harry had had his own encounters with the Dementors, he imagined lively what it must have done to Severus to be alone, with no hope, no friends, condemned to die and abused from dawn till dusk on an almost daily basis, exposed to these creatures that sucked even the last thoughts of hope and a future from his soul….. 

Dumbledore's habitually lively, sparkling eyes were sad. He looked at Harry, thinking very hard what he could tell the boy. 

When he and Alastor had come to the decision to not intervene on Severus' behalf with the Ministry of Magic, they did it to protect the most precious weapon they had in their war against the forces of evil; the one spy who'd never blown his  cover, the man who'd be able to go back and continue spying on the remainders of Voldemort's dangerous network of killers and terrorists without attracting their attention, the tool that would perhaps be able to identify and destroy later on the remainders of the Death Eaters from inside. 

Neither Alastor nor Albus had taken into consideration that Severus would go through hell. They'd been fairly confident that his soldier's training and the muggle methods engrained in the young man and which were completely unknown to the wizarding world of Great Britain would be enough to survive the dungeons  of the Ministry of Magic as well as Askaban. 

They'd simply agreed upon to bring him back, as soon as his date for the Dementor's Kiss was  fixed. Neither had thought of the difference  between the simple  prison cells  of Askaban and the  death row of this notorious fortress. Those condemned to sejourn for a determined or undetermined amount of  time in the prison cells existed still in the registers of the Magical Law Enforcement Authorities of Great Britain. They had names and numbers. The others, who were send inside the rock and  under the sea level, close to the caverns where the  Dementors dwelt had already lost their soul and existence before the fatal kiss was performed. They were gone and all they had to do was to move closer  and closer from the end of the row to the  very beginning, where they'd lose their humanity while their soulless bodies were simply stored away in endless  tunnels, chained into the rock until their hearts would cease to beat, too. At the  very end  the Dementors would simply take off a rotten body or more often forgotten, fleshless bones to make room for another vegetable…….. 

In the weeks and months that followed Voldemort's destruction, Moody's and Dumbledore's minds were set on other problems then the mental and physical survival of a weapon of war that had already served  its cause and was of no use for the moment.  

Albus woke suddenly from his contemplations, when he heard Morigan's voice. Harry had been so tense. Instead of giving the Headmaster his time to invent an explanation that would not be too shocking for a young adult, the girl had taken matters into her hands. She'd put her slender, bronzed arm around Potter's shoulder and cuddled him against her body.

'Listen, Harry!' She whispered into his ear 'That's ok, that's ok! They had no choice and they simply could not allow the whole wizarding world to understand what a dangerous game they've been playing for reasons of state. They did not mean it……to harm someone…..'

She pulled her slender member firmer around Potter.

'You know, when the Americans made their mistake and killed my 'papa' and almost two thirds of his men because they thought the French troops were enemies, the newspapers did not write the truth. It was simply too big a mistake to kill your own ally because you were too dumb to ask first and shoot later. In a war they often hide the truth and tell lies, because if everybody would know that his own side is as bad as the enemy, there would be turmoil.'

Dumbledore was shocked, when he heard Morigan's last words. There she sat, this young girl of fifteen and explained how low you could sink in order to win a war. Yes, she was right! He and Alastor, they'd sacrificed Severus in cold blood, because it was not done to tell all England loud and strong that you have been authorizing someone for years at end to commit the most atrocious crimes and conspire with your enemy, only because you could not find another way to beat this very enemy. 

And the very moment the human being you'd so wilfully employed as a weapon of war needed your help, you simply let him down from fear…………fear of the scandal it could bring upon an ancient and esteemed institution like the High Council of Magic to authorize the slaughter of innocents to prevent perhaps greater harm! 

The political gap between France and England had always been wider then what a superficial observer would have seen on first sight. The institutional framework was so different, that apart a few instructed ones, nobody on the island would ever have believed that their old neighbour and enemy in many muggle and wizards' wars would be liberal and open-minded enough to simply accept the existence of magic and have the whole country profit from this fact instead of hiding it away by desperately clutching to medieval ways! 

Only some scholars in the field of History of Magic had ever taken care to research the impact of Napoleon Bonaparte's reign on both muggles and wizards. None of them originated from Great Britain. It was hardly ever mentioned that the man had been a powerful sorcerer and a gifted warlord, too!

Although he'd lost at the end, because he'd gone from changing the political systems of both non-magic and  magic in his own country in a revolutionary way  to conquering the world in order to secure these changes against all destructive efforts from outside were the old system still prevailed…………..Great Britain had been France's most unforgiving enemy in those days!

Suddenly Dumbledore felt ashamed in front of these two children. 

As a teacher he tried to instil values in his students, he'd overrule only instants later in his function as the Speaker of Britain's highest and most ancient magic authority. 

But since the royalty of the country was strictly muggle by now, the Council no longer reported to an Overlord who held power in both worlds. With Tudors, Lancasters and Stuarts long gone bye and substituted with foreign princelings devoid of all magic powers, the High Council, or by its ancient name, the 'Order of the Phoenix' was no longer subject to any final verdict from higher authority. 

They did, what they believed was the right thing and never reported back to anybody. The relatively young institution of the Ministry of Magic held no influence on the hereditary members of the Order. 

From pillar of state in the days of old they'd transmuted over the last 1000 years into a secret society, comparable to Voldemort's own Inner Circle. The only difference between the two was, that the Dark Lord found himself on a ruthless quest for the very power, the High Council of Magic held for  reasons  of birthright and blood. 

The true issue when Salazar left  the other three founders of Hogwarts was, that he excluded his entire bloodline from the 'Order  of the  Phoenix'  forever. 

Before Voldemort, the  majority of Slytherin's direct heirs had simply accepted this fact as their fate and  contented  themselves with disturbing the ways of the 'Order'. 

They'd  nagged the established power and its institutions, tried to gain influence via the Ministry of Magic,  as soon as  it had been created during the reign of the first non-magic imported  princelings from the European continent after the abrupt end of the reign of the Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell at the end of the Seventieth Century…….. or simply through their tremendous wealth and money. 

Only a  few, over  these 1000 years  had dared to challenge the established system and  attempt  its overthrow. 

Their attempts had always been drowned in a  sea of blood and violence and by the end, the old system had prevailed, although each and  every of these dark times on the British Isles  had brought a follow-on period of slow evolution  towards a more egalitarian political and social system. 

None had  ever  revolutionised the whole  structure from top to bottom, as the ascension of the Corsican wizard  Napoleon Bonaparte to absolute power over magic and non-magic  France had done in the early Ninetieth Century. But contrary to Napoleon who'd never  cherished  the Dark Arts and not even in his most desperate moments had  abased himself to use this kind  of magic, Great Britain's contenders to power from Salazar Slytherin's  line had  always been Dark Lords. Politics were a terrible thing!

'I do not like this!' Harry said in a firm  voice. 

He'd  straightened up  in his seat. What else did they hide from him, when already over so  many years Dumbledore had hidden important details like the overall events of Halloween Night 1981 and Severus' real identity? Why had he pushed  him into the hands of the Dursley's although it was  perfectly clear that his security would have been as good at Montmuran? Had it really been a simply issue of protecting Harry or  was there more  to letting him grow up away  from the magic world and his own kin?

'Professor  Dumbledore,  I do understand quite a lot of  what you told me and also of what you do not want  to tell me. ' The boy looked straight into the Headmaster's thoughtful eyes. 

Albus had  the strange impression  that the last two hours had changed the child into a mature young man, although he had no idea if this was a good thing or a bad thing for their cause. 

There were so many secrets he'd still to unveil, so many details he'd to tell Harry to have him have the full picture. 

Was he already ready to take the rest, too? How would he deal with the revelation that over the  last years  at Hogwarts he'd been groomed  to confront Voldemort  one  day, because the members of the 'Order of  the Phoenix' had developed a theory  that Voldemort when having been drained of his  powers and body in 1981, had transferred part  of them unwillingly onto  his victim-turned-conqueror Harry and thus from Slytherin to Gryffindor?

They had been convinced that since Harry, Gryffindor's heir, had taken him down already once with the humble forces of  a baby,  he'd be able  to fully destroy him when a fully trained  wizard. 

Was this theory  still relevant, now  that the Dark Lord had been identified clearly as  a demon, an immortal concentrate of evil?  Or  was it irrelevant, since the confrontation would still be Slytherin's heir against the last remaining heir of Goddric  Gryffindor? 

'Please, ask me what ever  you wish, Harry!' Dumbledore gave a sigh. It was certainly better to accept the  new problems with Voldemort, while at the same time cleaning up the lies and omissions of the past. James' son had a right to know!

'Why did Voldemort kill  my parents?'

'James had  to die because of blood, Harry! Your mother was killed because she shielded your body with hers and since she was pregnant with another child, the  Dark One could not risk the birth of a new potential danger, beyond James' and  your grave. But there were still more reasons  to this slaughter……..in particular  an object your father owned and Voldemort desperately wanted: You once held it in your hands! Gryffindor's sword  wields  enormous magic power, this power becomes even stronger when the sword is used together with Slytherins'  Shield. Voldemort misunderstood the true meaning of the conflict between the four founders of Hogwarts and simply embarked upon a quest for raw, crude, basic power! He had already three of  the four magic objects the founders  of Hogwarts had left for the protection of our  school, which is the future of the wizarding world of the British Isles. He  was  convinced that the possession of the sword would allow him to  take over this place and transform it into a forge of dark sorcerers which would then become the minions in his conquest of  the four lands: England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland – the plains, the valleys, the waters and the mountains – Slytherin, Rawenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor!'

'So in the end all comes down to establish a new balance?' 

Morigan asked shyly. She had been allowed to  stay, because  her uncle  had  wanted her to  understand what she had seen in the Pensiève that other night. She was not sure if this permission included questions towards 'Pappie's' friend Professor  Dumbledore. 

But the whole discussion between him and Harry had ended up  around something else  and she was pretty much familiar with  the subject due to her  upbringing and cultural and family background. 

When all had begun, more  then one thousand years ago, there had been five lands closely entwhined:  The old duchies on the continent, Cornouailles, Brittany and Normandy had  counted as one. They represented the fifth element, the one that was inside the other four: Fire!  

Balance meant in Morigan's world the existence of all five elements; Slytherin, Rawenclaw, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff all had blood from  the other side  of the sea in their veins,  although they were wizards, while the old duchies knew only druids, bards and ovates. 

Their kin had crossed  the sea  at the very beginning of time and established communities on the islands. Since they did not refuse to mix their blood with the people who already populated  England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland differences soon disappeared or were simply forgotten. 

For a long time they'd been living together in peace and none considered the sea a line of  separation. But one day the blood from the old duchies  had become so mixed up with the islanders that the connection was broken. And  since this event  happened during dark days, when invaders from the North haunted both, the old duchies and the islands, people on both sides of the sea engaged in a frantic struggle for survival. 

The first to surrender to  the overwhelming forces from the North was Normandy and from  there the  Norse started their invasion of England, Wales, Scotland and finally  Ireland. 

It was at exactly this moment, that Slytherin, Rawenclaw, Hufflepuff and  Gryffindor decided to build Hogwarts  in order to protect their world by teaching a maximum of youngsters who had magic gifts the use of the craft. 

Their hope was to oppose force to force,  strength to strength.  

They'd invited Merlin to join, but the Old One refused, professing that the old knowledge could not be  beaten into each and every skull  who had a touch of magic at high speed and through a standardized curriculum –to use a very modern word! Merlin had been afraid to distribute magic power  wholesale. 

He'd been afraid that in the end they'd  replace bad  simply with evil. He had told the four others that the druids  preferred to keep to their  own ways at the risk of perhaps being overwhelmed by the Norse one day or another, since he  was sure that this day would  never come. They'd existed for  so long, because they'd kept close-knit structures and ensured the transmission of the full knowledge of old to a selected few. They'd survived, because they'd kept out of each and every form of power politics. Traditionally they'd been neutral. They'd been the Balance and  intended  to keep it that way………………. 

Dumbledore gave her a smile.

'You are a clever young lady, Morigan! It is all about balance. Voldemort's pretensions  destroy from inside the  precarious balance on which the whole magic Britain is built. If he succeeds it will be like a cancer eating up a body from inside. At the  end, only the cancer is left and although he can no  longer survive without the life force  of his host………………….well, the  host is gone and cannot be brought back into life.'

'And nothing is left!'

'Yes, Morigan. And nothing is left! Our magic world would  simply disappear from  the surface of  the Earth. And since the cancer will need  a new  host in order to continue his own existence, he will leave the  barren plains and try and conquer another place, where he'll feed upon another life force until it is destroyed and  so  on and so on……..'

Harry listened attentively to Dumbledore and Severus niece. Although he had found their exchange at first cryptical and  difficult to understand, the more he heard the clearer the picture  became before his inner eye. 

Voldemort functioned  like  a Dementor, but on a much higher level: He'd suck Great Britain's magic world of  its life force in order to strengthen himself and when he'd brought them to their knees, when only darkness was left, he'd go to suck the next magic world, and  the next and the next. He'd  leave nothing behind, because he had no other plan then becoming the most powerful wizard of the world, not caring if there would be anybody left who could challenge his power and therewith prove its existence. It was nothing more but madness! Madness on a high and dangerous level…….

'But would he ever dare and challenge Merlin, Professor  Dumbledore?' Morigan  asked. 

Voldemort had somehow managed to snatch immortality from  the hands of nature, but he was a newcomer  in this very restricted and exclusive  club: The stone rings  existed since  the beginning of  times, the menhirs  of Carnac were over four thousand years old………………………

'Merlin? Morigan, I am not sure that the Dark Lord is even aware of  the existence of Merlin. To him, as to many others the Old One and Avalon belong into the realm of fairy tales, with Brocéliande being nothing else but the Forest of Paimpol and  Carnac and the  stone rings a useless reliquary of times long gone bye……..'

'But Merlin is as real  as you and I, Professor Dumbledore!' Morigan blushed and pressed Harry's  hand a  bit firmer. 

She had gone to see the Old One and the Ancestors  together with 'Papie' and 'Mamie' since  she  was a small child. She had even  a dim memory of the Old One standing over her cradle and giving her his  blessing and putting a chain with her birth amulet around her baby neck. When her father had still been alive they'd crossed the stone ring together, whenever an important decision for the family requested it. Her 'Maman'  had gone to Avalon and so  had  Gwenael and Delphine and Myriam and almost all the women who were downstairs in  the Medieval Garden, enjoying their breakfast and the pleasure to exchange the latest family news with one another. She'd perhaps go for a while to Avalon, too……after Beaubaxton and if her heart  told her to chose this way in life!

'Most certainly he is, Morigan. But this does not mean that  a Dark Lord like Voldemort will accept  it. He has no interest in the balance of nature. He cannot conceive that there is grey in the middle, where  he himself sees only  the Dark and the Light. His aim is to extinguish the Light in order to establish the Dark. Merlin on the other side can turn to the dark or to the light for a while out  of necessity, simply because  it is useful  to re-establish the balance that keeps everything going.'

Morigan and Harry nodded almost in unison.  But  while  Morigan seemed fully satisfied with Professor Dumbledore's explanation, Harry still missed one reply.  And  to him, this reply was of  more importance then most  of the other issues they'd tackled over the last hours…….apart perhaps the truth concerning the death of his mother and father on Halloween Night 1981. 

'Professor Dumbledore,' he asked ' could you now tell me finally, why Severus' memory ended up in my Pensiève? Has this to do with my scar and him cursing Voldemort only a short time before Voldemort tried to kill me. Have there been two who survived Voldemort's  'Aveda Kedavra' that night?'

Albus already  wanted to  shake his head and tell the boy, that it was not this simply and  evident. But when he realized who'd entered Severus rooms in the Northern Tower he stopped.  The old wizard stood up from  his  comfortable seat.  He gave  a slight bow of his head and smiled.

'I think Harry, that there is someone more instructed in the ways of magic in this room and  I have the feeling that he came especially in order  to answer your question.'

'Albus! It has been a long time ……..'

Harry heard a voice that sounded at first familiar, but then…….. 

Morigan shock her long raven black hair and sniggered. That old trickster was always good for a surprise. 

When Potter turned  around he saw  first the ditty old bat leaning against the massive oak frame of the entrance  to his living, arms crossed  over his chest and a familiar sarcastic grin on  his  lips. 

Next to Severus stood another man,  who looked more or less like an ageless and timeless copy of his Potions Master. Only his raven black hair was much longer, almost down to the newcomer's hips and it hung open in shiny curls over a very old-fashioned forest green  tunic. A broad brown leather belt held the tunic. The man wore soft brown leather  boots and matching leather brogues. He was half a head  shorter then Severus and his eyes were light brown. 

Right between his  high arching eyebrows over the bridge of his eagle's beak Harry distinguished a mark that looked like the form of a raven. The  mark  shimmered softly, as if illuminated. 

In an instant the boy looked from the newcomer back to his  Potions Master. The same raven shimmered softly between Severus eyebrows, too.  He'd never seen it before!  The two almost looked as if they were brothers. But Dumbledore's reverend  bow and Snape's sarcastic grin  told him, that this was most certainly not just another Snape sibling……

'Well, before  you forget breathing or swallow your tongue, Harry…….. I'd better do the  courtesies!' 

Severus  voice dripped with well-known sarcasm, although it lacked its  Hogwart's bite.

'Mister Potter, this is Merlin!'

Harry gasped. The Old One simply left Severus'  side and took the boy's hands into his before bending down to be  at a level with the child. His light brown eyes smiled.   


	39. The Face from Verona

Chapter  38            The Face from  Verona 

The  Restaurant 'Rheinterrasse' at Koblenz was full. It was a nice warm August evening. Holidaymakers from abroad had joined with locals who decided to relax around a nice diner and wine. Lucius sat down at the table Mr.Berling had reserved for their meeting and waited for his host. The sight over the Rhine was beautiful.  He would take Narcissa to this place some day and most certainly add a visit of Cologne. Germany was nice, although quite different from the Malfoy's habitual holiday hideouts in Italy or in the South of France. The wizard threw a glance at his expensive Lecôutre gold watch.

'Well, another 15 minutes to relax and enjoy before we are back to business!' He thought. 

When the waitress passed by, he asked her in correct, but highly accent-tainted German for a glass of white Rhine wine. Knowledgeable in the wines of France and Italy, he decided that some add on to his gourmet education was no mistake. German whites had quite a reputation.

Dr.Dieter Weigold had apparated close to the Restaurant 'Rheinterrasse'. His sudden popping up passed unacknowledged in the stream of tourists and locals who were on their nightly peregrinations for a good place to eat out. The wizard flipped his mobile phone open and dialled a number. A female voice answered the call.

'What about joining me at Koblenz for diner, Love?' He asked his wife Louisa through the muggle device. That think, although he did not like it very much, was still a practical invention. No owl would ever have made it in fifteen minutes from Koblenz to the Weigold's home in the countryside between Bonn and Cologne.

'I'll pop up in a second, Dieter! Only need to change.' Louisa replied through the phone. She was the second Dr.Weigold of the family and worked as a researcher for antidotes and healing potions with the small but highly reputed German outlet of a French wizards' laboratory that was hiding itself from the non-magic world under the very non-committing name of  'Dolisos Homeopathic Medicine'. 

It took hardly fife minutes and a soft 'pop' made a slender and fashionable blond with a cute short haircut appear by the side of Dieter Weigold.  He kissed his wife gently.

'I do need a good cover tonight, Dear. Hans Kolmsee transferred a very intriguing case to my service. If you have nothing else on your programme, we'll enjoy a good diner at 'Rheinterasse', play loving husband and wife and have a look at a chap from England who's trying to empty the bank accounts of a 'ghost'.'  A big grin appeared on the bald wizards bronzed face.

'So off we go! I did not meet a ghost for a while!' His wife joked back.

Lucius Malfoy in the meantime had met his business appointment Mr.Berling from the investment brokers 'Berling&Feucht Associates'. Mr.Berling was a huge, heavily overweight man in his late fifties. He had arrived perfectly on time as became a German banker, but from his heavy breathing and sweat-covered face Malfoy deduced that the man must have been in a terrible hurry to meet his time schedule. Apart this, he also looked fairly stressed and highly nervous. Perhaps the expectation of losing a client with a deposit that by now easily summed up to over 2 mio. DM all interests over 13 years included were more of a nightmare then the dark wizard had thought at the beginning. After the courtesies and formalities of introducing themselves and Lucius producing his Power of Attorney, Berling ordered the drinks and a nice diner.

Neither Malfoy nor the investment banker paid attention to the middle aged couple that took a table directly behind theirs. The expensively clad gentleman courtly offered a seat to his slightly younger companion, before he accommodated himself…with an excellent view on the Rhine and the table in front of his. The two chatted in German about this and that and in a normal voice. There was nothing strange and nothing suspicious with Malfoy's and Berling's neighbours.

'Following your phone call of today, I had a long discussion with my partner, Mr.Bell!' Berling went right to the middle of the topic. The loss of the client Tom  M.Riddle meant disaster to their firm. Since he never touched  his money and only stocked it  with them,  they employed his funds as a very discreet credit line to their most active client, the American arms merchant. They could not employ outside funds for these  deals. What happened between 'Berling&Feucht' and the arms dealer made live the two associates not only well, but also  in riches. Feucht and Berling had grown used to the money. They'd tax the American with nasty interests, which the man paid without complaint, whenever he  needed cash quickly. And since he always re-paid on  time, the Riddle  account was kept at its habitual level. They could not use the money of their third client from Anvers in  these transactions. The Belgian diamonds merchant  was  in legal business and had a nosy bookkeeping service that claimed the  money from their German precious stones deals after the legal delay for payments of 90 days. Since  gem  auctions ran the whole  year in Germany, the Anvers book keepers where the whole year on 'Berling&Feucht's' back.

Dieter  Weigold held his lovely wife's hand while  they  enjoyed their drinks and waited for the food. His well-trained ears hung at the neighbour's table, although he made coherent small talk with Louisa. She understood and did not mind the lack of depth of their  nightly  conversation. She simply enjoyed her husband's company and the fine  weather. But nevertheless, from  time to  time she threw a glance at the two men, Dieter was spying at. The  fat guy with the pinstriped three-pieces suit was  a non-entity; never seen, never heard off. On the other hand the blond  Brit…………..there was something familiar about that face and that voice.   And still, something was missing. She sipped her Marguerita and closed her  eyes for an instant.

'Robert G.Bell? Bell? No. This is not the name I'd put on that face. I have seen him before!' She said to herself. 

Her mouth replied automatically to a remark of Dieter about the view on the Rhine. She knew, he'd not mind that her answer was flat and non-committing. He listened to the meatball and the blond anyhow.

'Verona? Verona!' Louisa had not only an excellent hand for healing plants and mixing them up into superb potions that went by the name of 'homeopathic medicine' on to the non-magic  market. She  was also a good physiognomic, who would never forget a face  she'd seen.

'Yes, Verona! The Annual European Congress of  Potions Masters!'

Louisa  bent over to her  husband  and whispered into Dieter's ear.

'I know that man, who calls  himself Bell!  Hopefully his memory for  faces  is worse then mine.'

Dieter enveloped  her hand in his. Nobody, not even Lucius Malfoy at his most suspicious would have seen anything else then a loving couple waiting for their diner.

'Tell me?'

'Last year at the European Congress at Verona. I shared table with him and other Potions Masters. He was not at the  congress, but had come to the diner, because one  of his friends attended and he must have invited the guy. Had only his silverblond hair down to hips length and wore it in a low ponytail. He was very companionable and funny during that evening. Buy me another Marguerita and I remember his name……..The one he was  with is that grumpy Brit from Hogwarts with whom I correspond from time to time on the Wolfsbane. I wonder if the man has  golden balls by now with his  patent on this potion. It's  a hell to brew….'

'Snape?' Weigold had also a good  memory. His was for names and Louisa  had more then once blown a load  of powder against Snape at home. He sat on his research into other uses of aconite like  a hen on her eggs.

'Yes, Snape. And this one went at Verona by the name of  Earl  of  Carthmarten. Terribly blue blood. Very old wizard family from……….Anglesey! Malfoy. Lucius. He was good  fun.'

'Malfoy!' Weigold  had to  control a blast of laughter. He understood. That was good news. He was on track and Hans had been right. The case was his: Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater and right hand man of Voldemort…..together with the Potions  Master Snape, who was the  other  right hand one: The Death Eater the  Brits allowed to teach kids……like a tame werewolf. What an irony that he was the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion that had revolutionized  the life of countless poor  people, who had been almost banished from social interaction due to their curse of turning into uncontrollable  predators once a month. Since his wife's company started to  commercialised Wolfsbane recently, most of them –at least  in Germany, where Wizard's Social Security reimbursed the medication at 90%- had started to live normal lives.

'Dear,' He  whispered in the ear of Louisa 'I think,  I owe you part of my  salary this month. You saved  me a hell of a lot of work. So fun will start immediately. I will sneak after Malfoy and see what he's up to……and tonight after diner I will send an express falcon to my French colleagues who are so terribly interested  in  this case that our beloved  Gallic neighbours  even transgressed habitual courtesy between services and sent us a direct and 'humble' request for assistance.'

Usually the French were a cryptic bunch and  only put their cards on the table  when they had a knife  against their throat. But this one  was good: A  Counterintelligence request from the DST meant that the true source lay in  the DGSE, the Foreign intel service and  there most certainly with General Claude Fillon's wizard folks. So the French were hunting Voldemort! He had heard rumours that this bastard had somehow re-emerged  from the shadows of the past earlier  in summer.  But what the hell the French could  be interested in a British dark lord…..a local nuisance to their most beloved enemy, so  to say? How did they turn it: 'While we had  two short-lived misunderstandings  with our German neighbours over the last one thousand years, we had only two short-lived  periods of understanding with our hereditary British enemy during  the same timeframe!'

They were right. It was always more fun to  work with Paris then with London………for a  German Counterintelligence officer at least!

'So what do you think of my proposal, Mr.Bell?' Berling had  exposed the plan developed in the few hours  between the attorney's phonecall and the meeting at the 'Rheinterasse'. It was a very interesting proposal, if the attorney's client Tom M.Riddle wanted to get real good money out of  his  deposit.

Lucius had listened attentively. Although he was  not terribly well-versed in things muggle and non-magic, as a Front-de-Boeuf Malfoy and Carthmarten, he knew one thing: Keeping one's gold together and making it  more! It was not for nothing that his family was considered by far the  richest wizarding aristocracy of Great Britain and member of the Top  Ten of the European list. And since Berling  was so desperate to make such a tasty proposal that only a complete fool could refuse, it meant  that the man would be  willing to have himself employed in an even better plan.

'Why not bait the fish?'  Lucius said to himself.

'Indeed, Mr.Berling! This proposition of  yours can change my attitude. Nevertheless it would mean that I'd have  to transfer other funds of my client and which are deposited with several German banking institutes on to his  account with your firm.'

Berling's eyes widened. What had seemed the bane of his and Feucht's existence only  a couple  of hours  earlier could now become a  source of  additional wealth!

'Please  explain, Mr.Bell!'

Weigold grinned and dug happily into his plate of 'Forelle Müllerinen Art'. That was excellent. If  the two conspirators at the neighbour table would agree their dirty deal, he'd not even be obliged to track down Voldemort-Riddle's accounts all over Germany. He'd simply stick to Lucius Malfoy and the Death Eater would show him the  way for free. 

'I'll end up with a free vacation in the Loire valley,  all fees  paid by my French colleagues, if the two over there continue like that!' He whispered into his wife's ear.

'You must explain everything from  beginning to end, as soon as we are back home, Dieter. I love a good mystery story before going to bed.' She replied  with a broad smile.

It was close to midnight when Berling and Lucius  had come to an agreement. All money from Voldemort's  accounts would be transferred to the small investment banker. The two associates would take care of these  transactions, beginning already by tomorrow at the opening of the banks. Officially and to lure Berling, Lucius would then open a couple of separate accounts with 'Berling&Feucht' and they'd see to it that the full amount of money would be  deposited  in cash at their premises, since Berling believed by now that the attorney of  Tom M.Riddle was willing to allow them the use of  his client's funds to  finance the American arms  merchant in exchange for 65% of the interests the German investment bankers would claim from their sinister client.

In reality Lucius simply wanted  to wait until they'd retrieved the money expertly from all other banks and made it into cash. He'd  then use a crafty 'Imperio Curse' on the two bankers. Not only would  Lord Voldemort almost owe  his very own bank for more money transfer transactions or even money laundering, he'd  also be  able  to  improve his  financial situation without pain through the interests they'd still collect from the American and Lucius himself would not be  obliged to store all the cash in his properties. Only the transfer to the Gringott's vault would be tricky, but that was a world Malfoy knew perfectly well.

He  could hardly await the end  of the diner to contact Lord Voldemort and report his achievements to  the master.


	40. The Spider's Web

**Chapter 39             The Spider's Web**

Yannick felt not good at all. Honestly speaking, he felt as if he could empty his stomach into the next rose bush without bothering for the delicatessen the Montmuran house elves had hardly two hours earlier forced upon him.  He was pale, as pale as a ghost.

Not that entering a magic object together with Damien Tremayne would have been a shocking idea for the exorcist; he'd seen too much of this stuff over his life time and being friends with Severus Rogue de la Bédoyère and his clan for......well, more then fifteen years now had equally been of great help in understanding the mysteries of another world. 

But Yannick had made his trip into Voldemort's mind, courtesy of Severus own and very clear memory of that dreadful night and for him, an acknowledged expert on Satanism; this had been a trip straight into the fires of hell.

Damien requested a house elf to bring a bottle and something terribly strong. The little being was clever enough not to question such a strange desire during breakfast. She'd been sufficiently shocked herself by Yannick's looks……. although their cooking was, as usual flawless and she did not feel responsible.

After two solid glasses of powerful Russian Vodka –the house elf had decided on her own that Calvados or Whiskey would not do in a case of medical emergency – Father Le  Floa'ch was almost back to normal.

'He's mad, simply mad and he's  as evil as Satan himself. You'd not told me this 'creature'  has  once been a man, a human being, I'd  say Severus had an encounter with the Evil One himself.'

Damien nodded. He felt also a bit shaky and had to help himself to Vodka in order to recover. He had been more impressed  by the merciless torture that demon imposed upon someone of whom he requested allegiance and loyalty. 

Simply to govern your 'followers' by fear and violence! That  was no good. Not even the Middle Eastern terrorist groupings  were that dumb. They held their men with notions like 'honour', 'pride', and the 'commands of Allah to exterminate the faithless'. Indeed they used terrible methods upon traitors to shock all with insane or devious ideas, but they never made physical abuse  a  welcoming ritual. But with a brain like Voldemort's, could this devil use different means of idolization?

'At least,' Yannick gave a sigh 'this evil madness  will make our  attempt to rope  the demon and then perhaps throw him back into the abyss of Hell  much  easier. His weakness is so very obvious  and if we  can make him confront it on a regular basis, it may drawn him off his powers and strength.'

General Claude Fillon nodded.

'You have 'carte blanche'. Do whatever you believe that has to be done to get us rid of this menace. I won't set limits or constraints upon you in this specific case. After the 'Gorseed' I shall arrange all the necessary to ensure that none of my men will ever get in trouble with the laws  of our  country, if  things by accident, should transpire into the public.'

Patrick Delacour de Saint Germain nodded his  approval.

'This one is a terrorist, so he shall be handled like one. No mercy from our side  should  be  expected. If ever I'd get my hands on the bastard I'd  hex  him straight into  the next century!'

'I'd rather have him disappear from the surface of this planet good old style, Patrick! Only a dead nuisance is a good nuisance, to give a clever citation from a 'bright' American soldier to the  best…..'

The General threw  his three intelligence officers from 'Service Action' a questioning look.

'You all accept the mission? Still time to say 'No', gentlemen!'

'Damascus?' Damien asked suspiciously. He  had a hell of a lot of  shit waiting for his return to Syria only. With a new terrorist organisation emerging from the ashes of the Gulf  War, the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan and the explosion of the former Soviet Union into a cumulus of rock states-to-be, the French interests down their and at home needed more then protection.

'Forget Damascus, Damien. We'll send somebody else. I cannot spoil a wizard on non-magic  stuff  were a non-magic officer can do the job as well.'

Fillon had always been a man of action and decision. He'd been in command of 'Special Operations Command' and before  that of  Special Forces himself. He immediately 'smelled' an urgent mission, a dangerous situation.

'Well,' Yvan Pregent replied 'I sign up with  Sev. That NATO job sucks anyhow. I hate to play big bad wolf for training purposes. Even if I'd put up a sign 'Here's the one you need to catch' those Americans would never ever find me, while the  Germans and the Belgians are  to delicate to do it, since the do not want to do any harm to  an ally. This SpecialOps training centre is not my cup of tea.'

Fillon sniggered. Pregent hated the job, although it meant sleeping in a cosy bed every night and having three regular meals a  day and a nice pay cheque by the end of the months, plus regular promotion. He understood the young wizard. At 35 he had also been full of punch and wanted to do the real thing instead of 'teaching babies'.

'Alain?' The General turned to  his last officer.

'No need to ask, boss! They go, I go.'

'Fine.' Claude concluded. 

'Yannick, I cannot order you around  any  more, but I understood that your 'new boss' in Rome  already tasked you. I believe you'll go to Professor Dumbledore's school covering up as a  teacher. Nevertheless……if you need  something, your  folks  cannot give or will not  give. I am still here for you. Now Damien,  as to you I have a pretty brilliant idea. Just need  to talk it over with Moody and Dumbledore,  but  it could  work. How are your acting skills?'

The young  wizard  shrugged his shoulders 'I am 35 and still alive. Should not be to bad, boss.'

'Could you play Sev?'

'If  you do not ask me to go to a  Congress of  Potions  Masters! They'd understand immediately I am a fake.' Tremayne grinned. 

He knew what Fillon wanted him to do and that was clever as hell. No need to be a wizard  to have good brains. Sev knew those blasted terrorists over there in England inside out.  He could sneak around and harm, but since it would be suspicious if  he was never at that school were Hundreds of kids could see  him at a daily  basis, he could not afford to stay  away for to long…….or some of the kids with parents involved in the Voldemort business would tell their mum and dad. And this would shed suspicion if each time Sev were not present, something nasty happened.

'A  simple charm for hair and eye colour will do. I cannot  remember how many people already took us for brothers or even twins.'

Claude nodded.

'That's the spirit, Damien. And the very reason, why I thought you'd be the man for the job. And Alain and Yvan, find yourself a clever idea to be over there in England, not far away from your  two  friends. But first we'll take care of the GIA people  whom we caught accidentally  consorting with this Voldemort minion.'

'Fudge!' The French Minister of Magic helped 'Cornelius Fudge,  my esteemed British counterpart. What about  him, by the way?'

'Slowly,  gentlemen!' 

A voice from behind  stopped the French clique in their intrigue. The voice belonged to  Albus Dumbledore who'd accepted  Merlin's request to  speak with Harry Potter alone. Dumbledore  was not fully happy about this, but  at this very moment it could not be  helped. He would have preferred  to listen to  the answers and  perhaps revelations  of the Old One in order to be able to react or adapt his own answers to Harry. The boy  was still  their last chance in the struggle  against Voldemort, although  neither Albus, nor Alastor Moody had  ever denied the  usefulness of the help  they received from the French. But the French were also of terribly hot temper and very much in rough-and-ready methods. It was not for nothing that the Speaker of the British High Council of Magic had  15 years of experience with a certain 'Capitaine de Vaisseau Rogue de la Bédoyère'!

'Professor!  Please be seated.' Fillon said curtly. 

'We do not  intent to make any decisions over your head. You requested our assistance and we are willing to provide. The  final decisions are all yours.'

'General, who beyond those present here at Montmuran  know?'  Albus started. 

He was aware of the French tradition to closely  co-operate with several other European services and he figured out that a  republic with a well-defined chain of  command even in affairs of state security kept top-level magic and muggle  politicians informed.

'Well, the Prime Minister of France and Monsieur le Président always know. This is the law  with such operations. But I can ensure you, that Monsieur le Président did not push his inquisitive mind deep into this  affair. He considers Minister Delacour the highest magic authority and this request for assistance Patrick's domain. The Minister  of Defence knows, since Severus is an officer of France and if harm should befall a soldier of our forces, this is the business  of the MoD. But he leaves the operation  to me, since the magic-non-magic link in state security is my very job. Then we requested some assistance from our German friends and also from the Dutch, the Belgians and the Italians. We did not consider useful or adequate to contact the US.'

Albus smiled. French pride! For nothing in this world they'd go to the US, magic and muggle alike. But Germany, well! Here nothing could be done. France and Germany were constantly hugging and kissing……..in all domains.

'Someone else?'

'Well, on the  magic side, we  get quite some  assistance from the Russians, since they have Durmstrang over there and when Sev told me that a man  named Karkaroff disappeared after the Dark Mark started to burn again, I asked my counterpart to watch out  for that guy. Nothing else, Albus! I swear.' 

General Fillon gave a nasty grin. He knew his business  and those he'd ask for help. He did this for 15 years now and although wands and spell books  were not his cup of  tea, his open mind and inventiveness had nicely adapted to the magic world. His 'boys'  had  even taught him a useful spell and he had an old school wand in his drawer. After long and laborious efforts he was able to work a pretty mean 'Accio'  to have files and coffee pots fly around his office in Les Invalides!

'Good! Something else I need to know?'

Dumbledore joined in  the  grin and smile contest at the table. He practised the French since the days of Grindlewald and he honestly enjoyed  their Gallic bravado and resourcefulness. He also knew that these people were dead loyal to him and Moody, because they were dead loyal to his friend Aurélian,  the Duke of Brittany. He was one of them, a soldier and also Aurélian's uniform came out only once a  year for the 14th of July and the Parade on the Champs Elysée, the old companion of national hero Leclerc de Hautecloque was still a name in the Forces. From France to Africa and from Africa back to France……….

Claude Fillon looked  lovingly at the Vodka bottle that had recently brought Yannick Le Floa'ch back to life. He poured a  sip for all those sitting at the table before  speaking. The best always for the end. 

His 'boys' and  Yannick had  all seen that express falcon land on his  shoulder and almost tearing his nice uniform to pieces. That was  another magic means of  transport he'd never get  used too. The birds were simply too big and had sharp claws and  when they were in a hurry they landed wherever convenient, mostly on him! 

'I got a falcon from Germany only instants before you joined  us, Albus: My esteemed counterpart from the Counterintelligence  at Cologne, the notorious Dr.Dieter Weigold had  done a quick and clean job on Voldemort's bank accounts!'

Dumbledore stopped in mid-sip and stared. What the hell bank accounts had to do with Voldemort? And why the hell, Delacour, Fillon and  that whole bunch of wizards-turned-spies from Claude's service attended the 'Gorseed' anyhow. He had missed out one point  for sure……

'Well, it was a test balloon after we got the tapes from our observation team over in England. The one with the Islamists that send us the photos, Sev showed you. The dervish thing and his djhinij  and since  I had Sev's report  from his first encounter with Voldemort almost before he told you and Aurélian, I simply requested via our  Counterintelligence DST, that the Germans shall have a look on bank accounts. A guy had done some pretty big money withdrawals in France already, but we were not quick enough to corner him then, since we were not  aware of the whole issue. The guy had been terribly clever, too. Almost as if  he  were perfectly introduced to the French banking  system and could pass for a Frenchman  or something.'

But Dieter Weigold had sent them the real name that went with the 'alias' the man had used in  France by now.

'Does Lucius Malfoy means something to you Albus?'

'Oh yes, that means something to  me and very much. Can you ask you German friend to keep that one under close observation. Can he keep a powerful dark wizard under close observation?' Dumbledore did not know if Fillon's German counterpart was magic or muggle, but he knew that both the French and the German system were similar  and they functioned on  a share mood in intelligence, security and law  enforcement, too.

'You never heard of Dr.Weigold, Professor  Dumbledore?' Damien Tremayne asked increduously. Weigold was the top authority  cursed antiquities and objects from the past. He had  a PhD from Heidelberg Wizards University, the most ancient  and most esteemed magic university in Europe after Prague. And the Heidelberg Dark Arts chair was top of the top. Most  of Damien's own knowledge on cursed  objects from the Middle East came from Weigold's books.

'Weigold!' Albus shook his head. Indeed he knew  the name. The man was an authority. He had broken the famous fatal curse on the Treasure of Pergammon, now proudly exhibited to magic and muggle folks alike in Germany's new  capital Berlin.

It  was good to know that they had a man like Weigold on board and if he was after Lucius, Albus thought he could sleep in peace. Over the last 15 years he'd never been able to force Severus'  hand upon Malfoy. Although the  dark wizard  was at the top position  of the High Council's 'hit list' , Severus had always refused to do his job. Dumbledore was pretty much aware that there was a kind of 'esteem' between Lucius and Sev, perhaps even a strange form of friendship. He had tried  at the beginning to push his French contribution to  fight the Dark Lord into actions against Malfoy, but after a  while he had simply given up. Severus said 'No' and did not want to explain and since Albus and Alastor knew the exact limits of their power to order Sev around, they had  simply given up on this. Perhaps he  should ask his 'Potions Master' one  day under four eyes, why he was  inhibited to  do  with Lucius what he had done so often before. It cost a lot to the young man to eliminate  whomever, but habitually he did his job and did it well. He had been carefully trained! But Lucius? This issue was about as  mysterious as Severus' friendship with Frank Longbottom and his 'cat-dog' relation with Sirius Black.  Questions never to be answered………

'So what are your  plans?' Dumbledore  enquired with Delacour and  Fillon.

'Can you get Alastor over here without attracting too much attention. Is he fit enough to come after spending a year in a trunk?' Fillon knew everything. 

Severus reported not only  to Albus. He reported dutifully back home on an almost  weekly basis. Severus knew – since  his unfortunate sojourn at Askaban – that keeping in touch with his own folks  was his very best life insurance……..after the young man's considerable own survival  skills.

Dumbledore nodded.

'Bring him over then Albus! I  think Aurélian and Généviève do not care about one more guest at their table………'


	41. The Deer, the Dog, the Raven and the W...

Chapter 40    The Deer, the Dog, the Raven and the Wolf

Harry had always believed, that Merlin was just a terribly powerful wizard from the days of old, a history long gone bye, a relic of the past. The Merlin he was now discussing with was terribly real and even tangible. He also contradicted each and every perception, the boy ever had of this man, who had been the counsellor to kings who lay dead now for almost one thousand years: Vortigern, Uther Pendragon and…….Arthur of the Round Table. 

Instead of a bend old man in billowing white robes with long beard and hair and a wizard's hat, carrying a staff and looking dignified, he discussed with someone who looked……….well, pretty much like his Potions Master: Young, lean, dynamic and very much alive!

After Merlin had asked Professor Dumbledore to leave them alone, he had first engaged in a kind of small talk with Harry that was particularly unravelling: If the holidays were ok, if he enjoyed himself, how school went, what subjects he liked, Hedwig……even Ron, Hermione and Sirius were on the list of questions. 

Harry –after a while- got the feeling,  that Merlin simply wanted to  get to know him! The Old One had kind eyes  that sparkled like Dumbledore's with life and mischief. He was funny and had a witty tongue……..not at all the solemn, dignified personage of legend and lore.

Although the boy had been overawed at the beginning, this very attitude of the 'Old One'  quickly broke the  spell and suddenly Harry found himself chatting, smiling and laughing. 

Merlin seemed to know a lot already. His questions went as far as pranks he and his friends had played  at Hogwarts or things that had been going on at the Dursley's.  

All this time, Severus had been perfectly at ease and content with watching Harry and Merlin discuss.  

It was only the very moment, when the 'Old One' changed from  socializing to 'business'  that the young man started to become fidgety and made an attempt to leave. But his Ancestor stopped him short with  a couple of Breton words, the boy did not understand. 

And so Sev went simply brooding into a corner of his living, turning his back on the two other persons in the room.

The 'business' had been the memory in Harry's Pensiève, the reason why an event from Severus life turned up in a magical object that belonged to Harry! And again it was a trip back into the past: Again they had to  relive Halloween Night 1981!

Now Harry sat in a comfortable brown leather chair  close to an open balcony on the top of the Northern Tower  of Montmuran and clutching a  mug  full of coffee with milk and  with the knowledge that on a particular October 31st, fourteen  years ago the despair of two people and their  willingness to die in order to save him had shielded a baby from an unforgivable curse cast by the most terrible dark lord that the British Isles ever had seen.

While his mother's motivation was simply love, Severus' motivation was more diffuse………………..but still very emotional and sufficiently powerful to establish a durable  connection with the baby,  although  that connection had been one-sided for  years.

When Albus and Moody requested a young French intelligence officer with a Hogwarts curriculum and perfect English, that was not supported by a language spell to infiltrate the Death Eaters and Voldemort's organisation of  terror, that young man on his return to Great Britain simply took up a part of his life were he'd left it the day of his graduation from Hogwarts and departure back home to France  and to his military service. 

After hardly one  months of holidays from exams and two years of the most gruesome and hard training an army could  bestow upon a soldier, he had returned  with a lieutenants rank in the French Navy, a  brand new contract with the French Foreign Intelligence Service  DGSE and very  clear  orders to infiltrate a dangerous network of terrorists. They had taught him that in order to win such a hazardous game, he had to behave as average as possible. So Severus started to re-contact his old chums from school! 

Lucius Malfoy had been easy to bait and with Voldemort recruiting  almost at speed of lightning,  the Dark Mark had been quickly branded into Severus flesh. But a Death Eater had it not written on his forehead. 'Morsmordre' did not float constantly over his head! 

The danger and the strength of Voldemort's  organisation were its secrecy and while Severus wore creepy black garment and a hood during many of his nights, proving his value  to the Dark Lord and participating in crimes and  horrors beyond the imaginable only in  order to report the intelligence he collected to Moody and Dumbledore who'd then try and prevent even worse horrors and crimes with this insider knowledge, his days were mostly those of an average male of twenty. 

He attended university, prepared exams, studied, met with his old friends from Hogwarts, visited their  homes, had drinks with them, laughed and lived with them.  He  was sufficiently well accepted by most to still get along  with them. Some, like Lily Evans still found him creepy and kept their  distances, while others had completely forgotten his Hogwarts  fame of curses, hexes, a nasty temper and love for the  Dark Arts. James, Siri and Remus had been happy to find an old partner in crime back in the circuit. His two years of absence were easily  explained away with studies abroad. Nobody was particularly astonished to learn that Severus prepared Potions Master's exams. Once Potions, always Potions!

He'd  soon seen a beaming Lily pronouncing marriage vows to James, he'd seen a happy James telling them that he'd be a  father. He remembered a completely crazy Lucius who announced to him Narcissa's pregnancy. He had brought flowers to St.Mungo's Maternity one morning and admired a black-haired rosy, tiny little thing that cried  its lungs out……. He  had brought similar flowers to a castle on a Channel Island to admire another rosy,  tiny little thing. As noisy as the black-haired baby in St.Mungo's, only that one had been blond. He had even ushered a completely drunk Frank Longbottom  from  the Leaking Cauldron,  after Frank had told Tom for 50 times how beautiful his and Julia's little  Neville was and  what great things  the wizarding world  could expect from a Longbottom.

Severus had still a very lively memory of a Christmas Day over in England where he had started with a small blond boy, who'd beamed  at him with steel blue eyes after discovering a teddy bear under layers of wraps – Draco!  

Draco still had the bear and he'd still sneak into Severus office  when nobody paid attention and Severus would still take him in  his arms as he had done with the baby boy so long ago. 

After Draco he had hurried to the next baby of friends –since he could not have children of  his own because of his druid's vows, he had  grown this tendency to bestow his attention on his friends' children. 

Harry –next on this Christmas schedule - had been as enchanted as Draco. No teddy bear this time, but a cute black plush dog……..for a one year old Harry with the naughty habit of pulling his black pony tail  and chuckling when he transformed into a raven in the Potter's living in order to tormented  the dog form of Sirius Black. 

Each time they were together  at the Potter's they had to do this trick –he and  Siri , or little Harry would gnarl and nag the grown ups for hours.

Severus wondered if young Potter had ever realized that there was a photo in the album Hagrid had offered him after his first year at Hogwarts: A photo where Snuffles stands barking under a Christmas  Tree while on top of the tree a black raven – the Marauders had called him 'Wings' - teases the dog..……

After the Malfoy's  and the Potter's, his next stop over had been Frank Longbottom's place:  Frank had been the one true friend Severus had made at Hogwarts. 

The Marauder's had always been ok – apart Pettigrew  with whom  Severus had never warmed up -  but Frank had  been the  real friend, the one he trusted, the one he talked with……..on top of the Astronomy Tower, many a night. The one who'd entrust him with the secrets of his dreams and plans and projects and even with his love for a girl from Ravenclaw. Frank had been to shy to approach her………

At the end Severus bullied  fellow Slytherin Frank Longbottom into a rendezvous with Julia from Ravenclaw. He wrote her a letter and a poem signed 'Frank'  and gave her a date at Hogsmeade at Rosmerta's. Then a similar fake letter went to the other shy lover………..signed 'Julia'…... 

The two love-birds almost strangled him together after a thoroughly successful encounter at Hogsmeade on a Saturday afternoon when his clumsy matchmaking attempt was blown to  pieces within the quarter of a second…..they ended  up married and with a little Neville…..the third baby during that Christmas Day round trip through England in 1980, only a few months before Halloween 1981 and  catastrophe…………

This year 1981 had been a catastrophe as  a whole: Not that  infiltrating Voldemort's Death Eaters  ever had been fun, but after Christmas and New Years Eve 1980, things had  turned from bad to worse…..from participating in atrocious crimes against people Severus had never seen before to committing crimes against people, who without his horrible black robes and the hood considered him a friend and trusted  him……….suddenly the lives his dangerous game saved did not count any more. Suddenly the balance  had changed!

Severus left his brooding and his corner and went over to a thoughtful Harry and a sad Merlin. There was no use turning  his back and pretending not to hear, not to remember,  not to feel…………….

The 'Old One' would end up telling the boy anyhow. So why not finally draw a line himself and turn a  page and perhaps get over some memories that were more of a  burden the all Death Eaters killings, crimes and tortures taken together…….?

From Dumbledore Harry had learned by now, that although Lily had never warmed up to Severus during their days at Hogwarts and later on in life, he was almost friends with James, Remus and Sirius. Not a nice and kind friendship, something more competitive, brash………but still, they'd liked each other. 

The notorious Shrieking Shank' accident had been a lore, transformed over the years, since none of those involved had ever been willing or  able to bring out the truth.

In fact, the Marauder's accidentally learned  that they were not the only illegal animagi at Hogwarts in their sixth year. There was a fifth student, who could transform into an animal form at will! 

During an illegal nightly trip to  the Forbidden Forest, a dog called Snuffles and a deer named  Prongs, saw a raven land not far from their hiding place. Instead of  choosing the security of a tree  for his landing, the bird went right into the middle of a clearing. And since only instants later it took its human form of a strangely intriguing Slytherin, with whom they were already on a 'like you-don't  like you' basis for one year, they simply decided to transform too. 

First Severus had felt cornered and almost hexed Sirius Black into the next week. But finally James somehow managed to talk some sense into the Slyth, who agreed to put his wand back up his sleeve. Although he never ever joined the Marauder's as a full member of the club, from this night onwards he was regularly convened to participate in interesting ventures. 

And this was why the Shrieking Shank accident actually had happen!

Severus had not been into Remus Lupin's secret then. But since a full moon approached, while Peter Pettigrew – Wormtail the Rat, was off service for an undetermined amount of time in the hospital wing to get rid of a nasty pneumonia, Sirius Black simply asked the Slyth, if he would help  them with some stuff and explained  to him that it was just a service they needed……..an animagus with a form small enough to  get under the Whomping Willow and open a trap there.

Severus did not hesitate. A sixteen years old who had been tamed too early by strict discipline and rigorous teaching simply did not hesitate when he was beyond the reach and the influence of his former masters……He needed the  thrill. He wanted the fun. He easily believed that the Marauders simply needed a way out from  Hogwarts School Buildings and since he was the only one whose form allowed leaving and coming as it pleased him - he was a raven - he neither considered Sirius request strange nor refused his assistance. The adventure on the other side of the trap was perhaps worth the  small service requested………

He simply flew from the Prefects' bathroom  window to  the Whomping Willow and auctioned the lever with his raven's beak. But suddenly a fully-fledged werewolf jumped from the trap, the then sixteen years old Severus was so startled and frightened even in his animagus form, that he accidentally transformed back into a boy. 

Sirius crime had never been in a malevolent attempt to kill Snape via Lupin! 

Sirius  had  simply been young and  thoughtless and he had  omitted  to tell Severus what to expect from the  trap under the tree!   James had been the wisest of  their bunch that evening. 

But since Harry's god-father's sixteen years old self had been afraid, that Severus –Wings- would say 'No' if he'd tell  the  truth and  that he, Moony and Prongs would be blocked from an exciting nightly adventure,  he had simply shut up,  confident that a werewolf  would never harm a raven and that a Slytherin had nerve enough not to be frightened………………. 

It had been a bad calculation, a mistake forgiven long since, a black eye for Snuffles and a broken nose for Wings after they'd settled their difference over truth and trust!

The situation of suspicion and almost-hatred between  Sirius and Severus did not date from their days at school. It was based on something very different: There was  no stupid boyhood grudge but a mystery of friendship, betrayal, guilt and death!

Severus forced himself to take a seat between Harry  and Merlin. He had lulled himself into believing that he'd never ever be obliged to confront this shit again. Over the years he had hidden away most of it in a dark corner of his brain, a place  he habitually left alone and never allowed to open……a place where he habitually stored away the horrors of his past and present. Sirius had been stored with 'Morsmordre', blood, fear, shame and……………guilt. There was no pride in this very corner of his brain. Only self-loathing and dark! 

'Friendship, betrayal, guilt  and death!'  

Severus started softly, fixing the carpet and the floor of his living. He sat there like an old man, all bent, all crumbled.

'Indeed Merlin chose the  correct words for it,  Harry. The words of a diplomat! Non-committing words. Diffuse feelings! I never thought of that…….'

Severus closed his eyes for a while before continuing. 

'There has been another night, similar to the one that concerns you, Harry! I simply stood by and let it happen and I did not even prevent them from harming the child…………. That other night, nobody was killed, but  a man and a woman are still in St.Mungo's………… not even remembering their names and the boy is hardly better then a squib……….. with a memory so weak that he'd forget to put his trousers on if nobody tells him…….and it was me who had cast 'Oblivate' on a toddler of two years………….in cold blood. 'Oblivate' to save his life and then to make the same life a hell, because he still has tendency to forget!'

'Neville?' Harry asked with a slight tremble in  his voice. 

Snape nodded sadly. It needed a lot of very strong feelings to cast 'Aveda Kedavra'  without a wand against someone like Voldemort. His memories of the night he had watched the Dark Lord  and his minions finish the Longbottoms and maiming Neville for life had been the strong feelings from  which he'd taken the strength to attack Voldemort with the most powerful of the three Unforgivables.  A simple 'Memory Charm' had brought out the worst of all curses. Only  this time the Dark Lord  had been on the receiving end……

'Voldemort came weakened into your parent's house at Goddrick's Hollow, Harry! In fact  he had been touched at its full strength by Severus' 'Aveda Kedavra', but he was already too inhuman to go down and simply die. All Severus' curse did to Voldemort, was to rob the Dark One of the last bit of human existence he still had. You were in front of a manifestation of evil and nevertheless you managed to drain his powers and to reduce  him to a shadow of evil –a demon- but with tremendously weakened powers and hardly able to perform any magic.' Merlin explained.

Harry thought he'd detect a sparkling  in the eyes of the 'Old One' when he finished the sentence, a sparkling that did not fit together with Severus, who seemed completely livid and close to tears. It was strange to see someone you believed unbreakable so vulnerable and downtrodden. Severus was even paler then that night at Hogwarts when Dumbledore had sent him back  to Voldemort!    

'Unfortunately nobody else was  present at Goddrick's Hollow: You drained Voldemort of most of his powers! If there would have been another wizard, able to catch that weakened form of evil – that tiny, little demon - and bind it, it would have been possible to throw him back into the abyss of Hell or to contain him within a powerful magic object…….an object that could then be destroyed…………………or sealed with an unbreakable curse. You almost got him that night…….the two of you: You'd have been together in the same room….Severus would have accepted to go  with Voldemort and the other Death Eaters into the house and cast his 'Aveda Kedavra' only there………..Well young man, that is the past and it cannot be changed and it has taken us over a decade to disentangle the essential parts of that mystery!'

'And  the memory in the Pensiève?' Harry tried again.

He had gone to know almost all untold stories of his life and tons of untold stories and secrets concerning his parents, and Sirius, and Severus and even the Longbottoms and Neville. But none had told him  until now, why the hell Severus' memory had  ended up in his Pensiève. 

Either none understood the phenomena and even the knowledge of the most powerful sorcerer of them all, the legendary Merlin was  not enough to solve the riddle or it was a magical accident  without explanation? 

Merlin shrugged  his shoulders 'Oh that, Harry! I almost forgot about the reason for this  encounter……apart the pleasure to  finally met you face to  face instead of observing you  through the Cauldron of Ceridwen or relying on stuff Severus tells me, when he's in the right mood…..'

Harry realised  that Snape did not even react to this stitch from Merlin. He looked simply exhausted. Probably he did not even listen anymore.

'Indeed, the memory!  When you drained Voldemort's powers, you absorbed some of them. Parsletongue for example!  You speak Parsletongue because of Halloween 1981!  But you also absorbed a little bit of what Severus  had thrown upon that manifestation of  evil the same night. He had resorted to terribly strong feelings of fear and hatred to generate a wandless 'Aveda Kedavra'…………….habitually any druid or wizard needs a  wand or a staff to cast such a powerful curse!………… Severus has a very peculiar heritage that makes him capable of very powerful dark magic…….the blood of the Evil One himself, my blood! Over the last thousand years there have been only two more druids with the Blood of the Evil One in their veins and you absorbed accidentally part of the dark powers  of the third……. Severus!  Now the two of you have an unbreakable link in dangerous situations when the one or the other uses this same dark power or experiences tremendous fear or terrible hatred……..Harry, this is a great gift and a curse!'

Harry nodded. Snape  gave a small, miserable sigh.

'You ask yourself, why I always manage to be  on  your back at school when you are up to get yourself into difficulties, Harry? I do not spy on you, never did and never will………no need for dirty tricks. I feel it! And if I allow this  feeling to guide me, I  find you……the closer you are, the more eminent the danger, the stronger the feeling……. I know exactly that you have been hiding under James' invisibility cloak in the section of forbidden books in Hogwarts Library, when I had my 'chat' with Quirell, three years ago. You were hardly at arms length…….It took me a while to understand why I felt an eminent danger for you with only that stupid Quirell and his silly turban present in that blasted Library! He had Voldemort under his turban and fixed to his head……..'

'And why didn't I feel or see anything until now, Severus?'  Harry had indeed wondered since he had set foot into Hogwarts how it came that Snape seemed able to figure him out, whenever he was up to something. For a while he had been convinced that the Potions Master was able to read minds..……

Another small and miserable sigh was the reply 'Because you had absolutely no reason to care for a nasty, ditty old bat you despised…….if you'd enjoy to hex someone straight into the next century three times a day, you will hardly ever feel, when this very object of your hatred is stuck in deep shit……'

Merlin observed the two with interest. They had to get their act together without outside assistance and without him or Albus bullying them into an uneasy alliance. It would be already hard enough: That child was full of uncontrolled and mostly undeveloped magic powers and needed more guidance then his Hogwarts curriculum could provide and Severus, who could teach the boy was still too much entangled in a fifteen years old spider's web of self-loathing, guilt, suspicion and hatred to ever allow Harry at arms length.

The boy observed his Potions Master for a long moment. He had the curious feeling to sit in front of an oyster that closed its shell. Since Severus had no black billowing Hogwarts robes to hid in, he simply sat there motionless, arms crossed tightly over his chest, head bent almost down to his knees, raven black hair that had slipped from the ponytail and covered the rest like a veil. 

An oyster was hard only outside, Harry suddenly remembered. Inside it was soft! He did not know why he decided to stand up and go over to the 'oyster'. When the boy put his hands on Severus' shoulders, the young one immediately tried to withdraw. But since there was no way out, with the back of the seat behind and Harry in front, he was forced to lift his head in order to shake off the kid's hands.

Harry had been prepared for this reaction and he was quick too. Before Severus was able to close his shell again, the boy was down on his knees and at eye level with the young druid.

'I do not hate you any more!' Harry whispered.

'I never really hated you, but I could not figure you out and that pissed me off mightily……………and you stubborn bastard never made it easy ……as if you relish in us hating you, as if you need it, that all of us consider you a nasty old bat………'

Harry's voice had become stronger and he had not let go Severus' shoulders. In fact, he shook him, as if to wake him up.

'For God's sake, stop it! Since the very moment you came to our common room to tell me that I should prepare my trunk, you offered your hand………………..you decided to let go that shit Snape personae of yours……….you behaved normal and decent. Now that I accept to take your hand and to trust you, you cannot go back into this blasted shell of yours.'

Harry had become really angry by now. He still let not go his Potions Masters shoulders and he continued to shake him. Severus starred at him incredulously. Merlin kept silent and smiled.

'Do you really believe, I still care about your bastard game at Hogwarts? You want to play it…….let's play! I'll piss you off and you'll take my house points and insult me! So what? Don't you think I am old enough to understand if you explain that it had to be that way? Do you really believe that I cannot play a game of chess if I have to?'

'Harry' Snape slowly went back to normal 'let go, please! There is no good involving you even deeper in a situation you do not fully understand and that already caused you harm and an unhappy childhood.'

'So  you expect me to simply shut up and accept you and Dumbledore  and whoever pleases protects me and continues to tell me half-truth or even lies for my own good?'

Harry was still at eye level with Severus and he did not let go. That was  too easy. He was fed  up with being used, manipulated, pushed around and treated like a basket full of raw eggs.

'And what happens the moment when you fail to protect me or cannot keep me out of  harms way. Shall I simply bend my head and run into Voldemort's open knife? I admit, you were pretty good…….you and the Headmaster.  But did you forget the moment when I was  all alone with Quirell in front of the Mirror  of Erised. Where have you been, Severus? And in the Chamber of Secrets, alone again……with a Phoenix, the Sorting  Hat and Gryffindors sword  and no clue what to do with  these things against a ragging basilisk and a younger manifestation of Tom Riddle……….and then again in that graveyard, with Cedric Diggory dead by my side and a madman stealing my blood and another madman casting Unforgivables at me. You had no means to protect me and neither had Dumbledore and nevertheless, the Headmaster  tells  me half-truth when it becomes him and his projects and you refuse even to give me a hint  on how I could get my ass out of deep shit………….Severus, this is so unfair!'

Merlin smiled. 

'What do you want, Harry?' Severus voice was full of resignation. The boy was right. Whenever he really needed protection, they had  failed him and all their good intentions and all their solemn vows to keep him out of harms way and out of Voldemort's claws had been vain……in the end. Perhaps they should have told  him  the truth from the very beginning.  Perhaps Albus should have taken the risk to entrust the child to his folks at the risk of creating perhaps and if all odds were against them a dark druid………perhaps……and if…….so what?

'Teach me, Severus and tell me honestly what we are up against. Let me at least have a chance!'

The young one  nodded. 

'I am not  a  good teacher. You should know this by now.'  He made a last weak and half-hearted attempt to hide  behind the shadows of his past.    

'But you are a pretty good survivor and to me that's enough, Severus!'


	42. Tasks

Chapter  41  Tasks 

Voldemort placed Lucius Malfoy's report back on his desk. All money in England and in France had been withdrawn from the Tom Riddle accounts. The operation in Germany was well under way, too. 

The Dark Lord liked Lucius' proposal to use the investment bankers 'Berling&Feucht' in order to get hold of the other funds in that country. Germany was not an easy place to play bastard games of money laundering, but the baking secret was such that non-resident who did not pay taxes in that country took profit from a lot of secrecy……almost as good as in Switzerland and less costly.

Instead of  convening Wormtail to take his reply to Malfoy, Voldemort dipped a quill into his pot of ink and started to draft himself.

'My dear Lucius,

I am indeed satisfied with your work. I fully agree with your approach and encourage you to dispose all Riddle funds  with 'Berling&Feucht'. Since you must be aware that our operation requests a continuous cash flow, the proposal to leave 50% of the funds with 'Berling&Feucht' as a credit line  in order to collect a 25% advantage from what they charge their US client is acceptable. Please ensure that the two brokers are under a strong enough 'Imperio' to avoid them dripping their filthy fingers into my honey pot. May I advise you to dispose of these tools of  yours as soon as you feel that we cannot draw more  profit!

Yours

Voldemort

PS: I count on your feelings for that smart little Narcissa and  dear Draco. Do not even think playing tricks on me. '

He sealed  the parchment and attached  it to the leg of an enormous and very strong barn owl. The animal had to cover distance and cross the unpredictable Atlantic and  capricious weather. 

Slowly Voldemort lifted his decaying body from his seat and stepped over to the window. Another three days and he would get rid of that disease the ritual had brought upon him. He was not mad! He  knew that bullying Snape into anything speedier would not pay off in the end. If Severus asked for ten days to develop a potion to stop his decay, it meant that the Potions Master needed this time. No 'Crucio' could speed up his work! 

Now with the Lestranges  delivered from Askaban, his cash line  under control and Fudge progressing on their soon-to-be Middle Eastern allies, all the Dark Lord had to do was to wait and to scheme.

Fudge had another meeting with Nouredine ben Kad'r planned  for the next day and McNair was delivering the agreed price of fifty happy children souls to the Chieftain and the Dementors. 

The Lestranges were beyond hope, but he did not save  them for hope's sake:  Malfoy and Snape were as good as Francis and Cecilia ever had been and…….less temperamental!  The rescue  from Askaban was only a demonstration to his followers that loyalty in his always service  paid off. 

After the necessary display of power immediately after recovering his body next to the grave of his despised muggle father and following the bloody show-down between him and Severus hardly a months later, Voldemort understood that he had to instil a new flame of loyalty and devotion in the weaker spirits of his  organisation.  Voldemort never lets down a follower!

He turned away from the daylight and  hid his decaying body in the heavy black and blood red fabric of his robes. It would be most interesting to see, how  that Nouredine Ben Kad'r, Fudge had unearthed somehow would react to a  demonstration of  strenghth, but since  Dumbledore was  almost in business with the giants, he needed a match for that muggle-loving  fool to distract his attention from more delicate actions. 

The Dark Lord had  learned his lesson from another decade and another strife: Rude violence and terror were classic  and  efficient means to  undermine an established social order, but they always led to similar replies from those attacked and an enormous amount of time from  both sides had to be spent in action-reaction  - I strike, you strike – blood for blood. 

Undermining the same social  order by means of corruption  was  at the beginning more difficult and laborious. It requested patience and means,  but  in the end it worked like a cancer and  devoured the target from within. 

It was  easier to be patient and to entangle them in a spider's web of  suspicion, insecurity, betrayal and deceit…………………He would not make the same mistake twice!

The Dark Lord returned to his  working  place and took his  quill. The time  had come to restructure  his organisation and to let new  faces in. The men he'd attracted to his  side  in the 1970ies and 1980ies were aging and  sated. Some of them had by today everything to lose if he'd succeed to impose  his new order. The time had come to create another circle of Death Eaters devoid of the flaw to belong to Great Britain's magic establishment. A new Inner Circle would emerge from the ashes of the past!

'My  precious Severus,'

He had been thinking of this, since the very moment of  his resurrection, when he was forced to notice  that the most promising Death Eater of his Inner Circle had  been unable  to attend.

'Since you finally decided to return  to the den, I thought  it useful to put you straight  back  to work. I cannot conceive that brewing a simple potion will take up all your time! Haven't I been informed that I have the honour to call the best Potions Master of this century a member of my exclusive club? So please  kindly employ some of your ingenuity upon another issue that goes  beyond this pet subject of  yours.

I do believe, that your remarkable powers have by now come to end with these trifle reminders of mine concerning your allegiance and sense of duty. Haven't you once been the mastermind of my intelligence? An organisation, every organisation depends upon evolution to stay alive. We must get rid of the burdens of the past and inject fresh blood and vigour if we want to succeed. Since you seem capable  to endure the nagging old  fool that is Dumbledore, I believe that you could enjoy using your well-defined place within the  wizarding establishment of Great Britain, to cut some green tribes from under his  claws. I  would appreciate something else then eternal Slytherin blood. Slytherins always knew their  place! I believe that you should employ yourself and pervert those beyond doubt: The future of Great Britain's wizarding world lays today  with Dumbledore's  own house Gryffindor. But since I have one living proof at my mercy (although he's perhaps  not the best example  for future recruits) there should be other youngsters tempted by the openings a new order and a new social system would bestow upon the ambitious.  I have the feeling that some subtle machination  of yours could rob my favourite adversary of some of the better elements in his quest. I leave this operation to your discretion and expect nothing but the best from a dark wizard of your  calibre and knowledge.

Yours

Voldemort

PS: May I remind you that I only opened those nasty scars on your back! As  far as our mutual friend Malfoy informed me, the Ministry of  Magic and Dumbledore have been at their origin!'

Voldemort sealed his parchment and  attached  it to the leg of  the  next, waiting barn owl. The Dark Lord had been forced to spend a long moment waiting for his hour. He had used each and  every moment of this exile to  reflect upon the mistakes and  shortfalls of the past and he had come  to the conclusion that it was easier to consort with men of intellect and skill then to surround  himself with obedient, but silly butchers. 

Voldemort was fully aware that  Malfoy and Snape were both dangerous and that none could be ever fully trusted. Both were dominated by terrible  ambition and gifted with the strongest dark powers themselves. But he preferred wolves to sheep and since  the two had been able  to trick the Lestranges into Askaban without getting caught, they were his choice…….although at this very moment he was not sure if one day he'd kill them or  grace them! Today, notwithstanding the risk both presented to his own domineering position, he felt that it was still advantageous to  use them!

Dr.Dieter Weigold observed Lucius Malfoy with curious interest. After the diner at 'Rheinterrasse' he had treated himself to a detailed lecture of the intelligence available  on the man: Lucius was most  certainly still an active Death Eater and suspected of having been the right hand of  Voldemort during the two worst years of  his reign of terror at the beginning of the  198oies. But after the defeat of the dark lord by a child of two  years  at Halloween Night 1981,  the guy had successfully managed to talk himself out of the gruesome British wizarding prison of Askaban. Today he was  again a respected member of their society and  beyond doubt.  

Weigold shook  his head: Beyond doubt? Certainly not;  But Malfoy was clever! 

He'd let him run for a while. His French colleagues  requested this leniency………but the very moment that man would dare and go beyond the laws of Germany, he'd strike! 

So for now it was mainly administrative stuff! The German wizard shock his feathers and moved to another branch that gave him a better view onto Mr.Berling's desk. 

It was perhaps not the most glorious  form one could expect as an animagus, but Dieter admitted regularly that for a counterintelligence officer, being a crow was practical. Nobody ever paid attention to a lingering crow! 

His beak nibbled automatically  at a twig that hung from the branch he sat on.  His cunning black eyes registered each and every number Berling tipped into his computer. Lucius Malfoy aka Robert G. Bell stood close to the window with a sheet of paper in his hand. The hot summer day was a blessing! 

Since 'Berling&Feucht' officed from one of the more fashionable 'Jugendstil'-houses on Koblenz's heights that overshadowed the Rhine Valley, office climatisation belonged to the realm of fairy tales. The buildings were classified as historic monuments and could not be  touched or modified. The huge window was wide open, and the curious counterintelligence crow  got each and every word clearly.

So all accounts with respectable German banks had been emptied by now and 'Berling&Feucht' telexed already the US banks to transfer their funds, too. Not bad for a pureblood wizard from one of the eldest families  of Great Britain! 

The Malfoy bastard seemed overawed with computers, but when it came to money, he was most certainly an experienced gambler. 

Dieter Weigold stuck his crow's head under his right wing to scratch off a nasty flea. Then he repeated the same ritual left side. Fleas were the only things he hated, when transfiguring into his animal form. They nagged and tormented and did  not go away, even when he was back in his human body.

'I think, Mr.Bell  that for today we are finished. New  York closes down and the West coast will not open before six o'clock tomorrow morning.'

Lucius threw  a short glance at the sweating fat man in front of the curious machine. He had tried very hard  not to  show that he had no clue how these grey boxes functionned and  deep inside he  felt relieve, when he heard an electronic female  voice announce that the 'Internet connection' was closeing down and that 'Windows' would end all programmes now. 

The dark wizard  made a mental note to question Draco about these things. Draco had a grey box at their family home in Wales and another one in Carthmarten Castle and he had 'Internet' but Lucius –good and responsible father he was  - would never interfere with the private joys of his son. Nevertheless, here it was a case of 'professional emergency' and he even considered an express falcon to Florence.

A smile went over his face: Florence! Narcissa! 

Since tonight nothing could be done for  Voldemort, why shouldn't his lovely Narcissa profit from this forced sojourn in Germany? 

He had seen some terribly fashionable jewellery at Cologne  and since he still  remembered the whereabouts of that other shop  with beautiful silk night wear nearby………... 

He took leave from Mr.Berling until  the next morning and left the office with his attaché  case. Lucius  did not see the shiny crow that opened its wings.

Dieter Weigold apparated only seconds after Lucius Malfoy and straight into the green lung of Cologne. He had come to admire the British dark wizard's preparation and skills. The man had definitively studied the city map of Cologne! Nobody would ever suspect an apparition right within the green house of 'La Roseraie', the city's museum  of life roses. Weigold decided against his crow form: He'd rather cross 'La Roseraie' as a human being, simply avoiding attracting Malfoy's suspicion. Crow were not terribly well received on the museum's open-air premises!

While Lucius took to the exit and from there turned to the left, Dieter quickly jumped into a public  phone. Since he had to resort to his animagus form, he was unable to carry a muggle cell phone. 

He  quickly told Louisa that he'd do some overtime today and he wanted his wife to perform a small overtime, too: The second guy! The other suspected right  hand of Voldemort's! The one, Louisa corresponded with on aconite! 

He had been terribly  intrigued when his wife explained to him, that Malfoy's suspected, former  associate, notwithstanding rumours about a process against him and even a  prolongate sojourn in Askaban, taught today unchallenged by the British authorities at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

The German Counter Intelligence file on 'Snape, Severus A. (…….  born x.x.x (approx. 1960) in ?, Father x. Snape, Mother ?. , Education ? , Sept.1st 1975-July 31st 1977 Hogwarts,  1978-79 ?, 1980-1981 Flamel College Oxford M.Potions, 1982-1985 ?,  1985 Dr.Pot. and  Potions Master at Hogwarts, 1990 Professor, Thesis classified by the  British Ministry of  Magic, Classification ? etc.) was a humble  A 4 sheet with hardly any relevant information.

Te non-magic files he had tried to find via the Interpol Intranet were as blank as  his own  sheet. There was  just a mention that a Snape Severus A. had obtained a visa to the CSSR in January 1980 in order  to attend a  scientific congress.

Dieter even had his assistant Helmut Scherm, a bright recent graduate of Castle Drachenfels and expert in  the fields  of Potions on the track, but even Helmut who was as curious as  a weasel had been unable to  find out more then trivia on Snape. 

He held a  dreadful magic photograph of the man; it was more a billowing black robe and a veil of black, shoulder-length hair then an ID! 

They knew by now  that Snape, Severus A.  had been the youngest Potions Master for over a century,  and the youngest Doctor and Professor in this speciality, too. 

Nicolas Flamel himself had been the supervisor for his Ph.D. and the principal examiner in his professorial.

They had tons and tons of publications on highly difficult subjects in his field of excellence! 

They had almost 1 m length of potions treaties written by Prof.Dr. Snape  Severus A. M.Pot.  

They had a stake of European and World Patents that indicated that the guy had probably a pair of golden balls from the money he made with his research in Wolfesbane  and other antidotes for curious magical ailments and they had Louisa's analysis that  he was grumpy and withheld most of his  ongoing research  results on aconite………………..

And  that was definitively not enough for an inquisitive wizard like Weigold! 

Since Malfoy had been mentioned as a team with Snape in relation  to the British dark lord Voldemort, who told him that they'd  not work as a team  right now? There was nothing like a  tame rattlesnake and Weigold doubted that something like a tamed or redeemed  Death  Eater could ever exist. Once a dark wizard, always a dark wizard!

Dieter followed Lucius Malfoy into the very centre of Cologne. The gold smith 'Lais' was  not a bad idea. Malfoy had taste and style. He'd have a look for Louisa, too while observing the Brit.    

Lucius  planned to finish the Germanic part of 'Operation Cash' within remainders of the week. 

Narcissa and Draco would  be back from Italy on Sunday, August 7th and  he wanted at least one day at Carthmarthen Castle  to instruct the  house elves on  the welcome diner and  other organisational matters: They held a traditional summer ball on August 15th and  he needed to  confirm his and Narcissa's presence  at the opening ceremony of the annual Sailing Classics. 

The dark wizard perused the choice of  bracelets the gold smith had put in  front of him. Although none of the objects was magic  or  cursed, they all had a certain, strange beauty. He opted for a  nice and delicate chain with square cut emeralds and matching  earrings. They'd  be  perfect with his love's green eyes.  

Dieter Weigold grinned. Either Malfoy had some cute,  young mistress  or  a terribly lovely spouse.  His choice of jewellery was extremely good taste: Not huge, flashy stones and money! The man went for  delicate artwork. He let his own thumb caress a beautiful dark blue sapphire. The gem was nice.  He'd have it made  into a 'penditive' for Louisa, as soon as  Malfoy was done with the shop  owner. It was  almost a pity that a man of such taste and elegance consorted with a piece of scum like  Voldemort. He'd regret it to send Lucius into a German Federal Prison on charges of money laundering and tax fraud.

Dr.Louisa Weigold  served herself another mug of mint tea. Her twenty-two years old  daughter Sarah chatted animatedly with a couple  of friends in the garden and the family dog Falk, an Irish Wolfhound of impressive size chased his favourite football all over the Italian tiles in the hallway of the family home at Bad Neuenahr. 

Habitually scientists enjoyed the peace and calm of their studies, when they were confronted with  a  difficult problem, but Louisa had  always  been a 'freak': The louder and livelier her house, the better she worked! 

Her daughter giggled like a five years old over some stupid joke of that dreadful little girt of boyfriend of hers. Louisa pushed the 'Send' button on AOL with a grin on her face. She was as intrigued by Dieter's  new case, as was  her husband. 

After the funny diner at the 'Rheinterrasse' she had been invited to  share the mysterious  'Riddle Murder' file from England and the information from Hans Kolmsee. In exchange, she had to  relate the Verona Congress 1994 to  Dieter. 

Now Dieter seemed convinced that Malfoy was  still in league with his sinister twin Snape and wanted intelligence on the elusive Potions  Master of Hogwarts. 

Her own frustrating information exchange on  aconite was most certainly no help, but since she had been in  the circuit for more then a decade now, she had met Snape on various Potions Masters Congresses: Lean, tall, dark, constantly clad in classic expensive black robes and Victorian redingote, long black hair, unreadable black eyes,  a naughty black raven to deliver his magic  correspondence……………..Louisa sniggered: The guy could get a  role in  each and every vampire movie without problems. As if he was constantly playing a role anyhow! As if he was hiding something from the world and wanted to make sure that nobody could ever think of him as something else then a dark winter creature. The guy was still very young for his academic achievements and it was evident that he was nevertheless a truly powerful wizard. Neither his excellent manners, nor  his  silky voice, nor his education could shake of  a feeling of unease when close to him. There was a constant aura of hardly contained  menace and violence around Snape.    

She  tried to remember other details and  had sent a couple of mails to some trusted friends in order to get their impressions on the guy. The Aconite  Controversy was excuse enough for some snooping. It was the hottest issue in the Potions Masters community, since the revelation of Wolfsbane hardly two  years ago.

 She'd even sent a mail to the object of Dieter's and her mutual 'desire' …..just to get back in touch!

Since Snape was  a notorious oyster, she'd pushed her  own work over the last twelve months. She'd given him an inkling on her  latest breakthrough and hoped, the fish would catch the  bait. 

From the congresses Louisa remembered that the guy let down his wards as soon as  he got entangled  with an intellectual challenge…..and her latest findings  were so intriguing that even the elusive Potions Master  of Hogwarts would not be able to resist.


	43. The Dementor's Kiss

Chapter 42   The Dementor's Kiss 

The French DGSE observation team in London's notorious Southwark quarters worked around the clock shifts. Two more specialists from Paris were added, both fluent Arab speakers. The surveillance was by now flawless. Their own agent of Algerian origin had managed to dispose several highly elusive listening devices and some more cameras over the whole place were Nouredine ben Kad'r did his business. He also clung to the GIA mastermind wherever the man went. It came therefore without surprise to see his mysterious correspondent Cornelius Fudge enter the safe house close to nightfall. All their extra efforts had been caused by ben Kad'r and Fudge agreeing on this meeting. What took them slightly off guards, was Fudge's companion. He wore a grey, filthy looking cape and a hood that hid his face. The man seemed easily two meters tall and tremendously strong. His head was bowed to make a look onto his face completely impossible. He strode with long solemn strides slightly behind their target. 

'Etienne, try to get several shots of that new guy, please!' The officer in charge of the observation informed his subordinate. The younger DGSE agent pushed an impressive tele-objective on his camera and for a while only the 'clicks' of the camera could be heard. As soon as Fudge and his companion were in the notorious storage facilities, ben Kad'r fancied for his meetings another agent auctioned the full panoply of listening and camera devices in there. They had a terrific view on the Islamist den, not even the furthest corners escaped the skilful French observers and even the squealing of a mouse would be tapped.

The six men were tense. Fudge approached ben Kad'r, while his companion –head bent- waited behind, suspiciously guarded by an armed minion of the GIA mastermind. The guard held a Czech Scorpion machine pistol with a silencer. A funny choice!  No silencer would really dub the full blow of the Scorpion and in this part of Southwark it was not necessary to be particularly discrete with this sort of noise.

Fudge went through his habitual greeting ceremonial with ben Kad'r and informed the Islamist, that his companion was only there to protect him on his way to the meeting, since Southwark was even in bright daylight a very dangerous place to walk.

Ben Kad'r gave his armed minion a sign and the man lowered the Scorpion. The other terrorists present also stepped back. And there it happened. The French intelligence officers watched the scene incredulously. The grey-clad companion of their target suddenly lifted his head and let his hood down. He rose to his full height and snatched the minion who had guarded him only instants earlier with a skeletal hand that seemed to be in an advanced state of decay. There had been no face under the hood, only rotting decaying flesh and an oversize kind of mouth that resembled an aspiration device. Before the minion could even attempt to resist the grip and with a totally frozen Nouredine ben Kad'r staring at the scene from his place by Fudge's side, the 'thing' pressed its aspirator onto the Islamists mouth.

The whole scene was over in a second or so: The sucked minion was virulently thrown at ben Kidder's feet and Fudge made a negligent movement of his hand. The grey-clad monster covered its head and ugly face under its hood again and retreated to a corner of the storage facility from where it could survey each and every movement of the GIA terrorists and their boss.    

'Mr. Ben Kad'r,' Fudge said politely before the Islamist himself could react to the shocking scene 'if you care to help your collaborator back to his feet, you will realize that although he's still alive, he is missing something very essential to be furthermore qualified as a human being! I am terribly sorry that I had to give this demonstration of my associate's reach and powers today, but for a fruitful co-operation it is necessary that we can trust one another. I will leave you with this collaborator of yours as a reminder, that should you ever even try to double-cross us……' His hand pointed the Dementor in the corner of the storage facility ' this trusted servant of my Lord or another one of his kin will find you and each and every of your friends effortlessly and dispose of you by the same means!'

Ben Kad'r had bent down to his minion. As soon as the turned the man over to his back, the dervish understood perfectly what had happened some minutes earlier. Fudge or the so-called associate of Fudge, whom he by now called 'Lord' were capable to manipulate Dementors or……….had been able to forge an alliance with them. Even to an Algerian dervish it was known, that these filthy creatures still existed on several islands in the North Atlantic and in the cold regions of the European North. It was common knowledge, that the British Magical establishment had been somehow able to sign some Dementor clans up to work for them in exchange for the privilege to first torment and then suck condemned dark wizards or other people considered criminals and meriting a form of death penalty.

It did not take long for the GIA mastermind to figure out what had happened: Someone or some organisation beyond the British Ministry of Magic had been able to get hold of Dementors, too and the filthy creatures obeyed these mysterious masters well enough to cross London and into a Southwark storage facility to suck out the soul of one of his men just as a demonstration of power. This was useful knowledge, very precious  knowledge! Ben Kad'r decided to play this one easy. With a movement of his hand he gave his armed minions sign that he wanted to be left alone with his guest. Another movement made the transparent form of his djhinij bring up a comfortable carpet, some plush pillows, a tray with hot strong mint tea and two glasses.

Fudge nodded approvingly. Their new associate was a wizard of nerve and taste; he obviously knew how to deal with this kind of situation. The soul-sucked Islamist stood like a statute in a corner. His empty eyes fixed a crude grey wall.

'Well,  Mr.Fudge, I  must  say this demonstration was impressive, although there was no need to explain to me  that contracts are binding for both sides.' Ben Kad'r started. 

He showed Cornelius  Fudge a pillow  and  let the  dshijnij serve the tea.

'I have heard of Dementors. I never thought you could control them at that point. Really impressive.'

'They  are very useful  allies, Mr.ben Kad'r and they  will not fail my Master  under any pretext. This just as  a preamble for today's meeting.'

'I do not doubt this, Mr.Fudge.' Ben Kad'r replied diplomatically. Since he had  seen his 'collaborator's'  remainders and their reactions, a nasty  little idea  had come to his mind. Fudge and his mysterious  associate proposed money for his co-operative efforts. Money  was  good, but a creature like the one he'd seen office a short time before would  be worth more then money for his own plans and projects.

'Could you ensure your 'Lord' that he may fully  trust my 'friends' and me. I believe that this collaboration between his organisation and mine will be mutually beneficial and not only a one-time shot over some  bloodshed in central London during rush hour. Please transmit an even better proposal of  ours  to him: I can engage my organisation to launch a  tremendous  amount of destabilising and conveniently bloody operations here in England and wherever else  requested within a delay of……..let's say two months. I will refrain from requesting any funds beyond those  necessary for the operations  from your side, but I'd ask your 'Lord' to give us  a Dementor for our own purposes!'

Fudge was a bit surprised. He had been expecting the Algerian dervish to be completely dishevelled by the demonstration of the Dementor and the visible results upon a human being. 

Dementors were not a common feature  of every day life in the magic community. Their strongest population was on the prison island of Askaban and in the hands  of the British Ministry of Magic. The few  other clans that still ran wild in the extreme north  of Europe were subject to merciless persecutions from the Norwegians,  Danes, Finnish and Russians. They were terribly weakened by the fact that they could  not rely on constant provision of souls to  regenerate  and multiply. They had to take the risk and leave their  hideouts in order to steal a soul here and there.  

The Russian Ministry  of Magic went traditionally to great length to make large public exhibitions of the destruction of any captured Dementor in order to re-comfort their population and regularly requested via the World Council of  Wizards to force the British to destroy their Askaban clan on humanitarian purpose and in order to protect the magic community from accidental outbreaks. 

Several other northern countries, were Dementors were  considered a plague pleaded energetically to  withdraw them from the World List of Magical Creatures and to classify them as Magical Disease to allow a systematic extermination program for these artificial  crossbreeds between minor demons and decaying corpses.

'I think,  we can negotiate such a technical assistance to your organisation on a small scale, Mr.Ben Kad'r!' Fudge replied. It would  be in the very interest of Voldemort to spread a Dementor  population overseas  in order to ensure a complementary base of power away from England for actions in other countries.

Ben Kad'r sipped his  tea. He would give his  Dementor a  good  home. It was certainly easier to employ  soul-sucked walking corpses instead of human beings with still a will of their own and a notion of fear for  several  of his projects.  The straining indoctrination, the religious brainwashing, the promises  of  Paradise and a place next to Allah were time consuming and laborious. More  often then not a terrorist strike requested a  brainless walking bomb, not a good and devote Muslim, willing to sacrifice himself in the  name of Allah.

The French DGSE observation team was speechless. Their equipment worked and tapped and filmed without their assistance. It was  the best state-of-the-art high tech could provide.  Nothing would be missed  out and they'd transmit this whole strange meeting between the GIA mastermind ben Kad'r  and this Fudge man to Paris within  the hour.   

'I do hope  that one day one of  the big heads in Paris will care to explain to us,  what's really going on in this blasted storage facility and what we are up against!' One of the technicians said to the  officer in charge of the operation. 


	44. The Essence of Evil

Chapter 43

Harry felt  exhausted. Following his discussion with Merlin he had been ushered down to Brocéliande  and the  stone ring where their 'Gorseed' was held.  He had found himself dotted with a Breton language spell between Severus youngest sister Délphine and Albus Dumbledore who threw him a highly curious glance. The first day of this assembly  had obviously already thrown some light  on the demoniac Voldemort and his potential  weaknesses. A couple of  blue-clad bards stuck heads together with Merlin, obviously informing the 'Old One' about their theory.  An astonishingly  serene  Severus, back  in his white ceremonial attire  had instantly taken to his fellowship and General Fillon. From time to time he mentioned green-clad ovates to join their discussion group.  Albus Dumbledore was unable to do more then to throw glances  at Harry, since he was soon invited to shuttle around between the various 'Round Tables' in the  stone ring. Merlin had a long exchange with the Headmaster. The bardess Nol'wen and Severus friend Yannick joined them. Then a couple of green ones took over and it became even fairly noisy and some 'impossibles'  and 'that could be a solution' found their  way into Harry's ears.

Apart Délphine who seemed the rock in the ocean for the boy, the known face he could stick to,  the 'Gorseed' transformed more and more into a strangely confusing exchange forum without any visible  structure. Severus sister did mainly the courtesies of introducing Harry to druids, bards and ovates who came along and made him tell his story of Halloween Night 1981 again and again. Some enquired also about his last encounter with Voldemort and the phenomena of the boy's and the dark lord's wands. 

After nightfall, when Harry had told his story at least eighty times, a little  bit  of  order took over from the chaotic brainstorming session of the late morning and afternoon. Merlin seemed now the master of ceremonies, since  he had taken a seat in the middle of  the stone ring. As soon  as the 'Old One' was seated, the members of the 'Gorseed' dissolved their groups and reformed, seemingly according to a colour code that derived from their robes. Green to  green, blue-to-blue and white-to-white. One from  each  group went over to Merlin and whispered  something  into the 'Old One's' ear. 

In  the end, Merlin unceremoniously presented  his analysis of their conclusions. 

Voldemort was indeed a demon and his  last hint of humanity had disappeared on Halloween Night 1981, when Severus had managed his astonishing wandless 'Aveda Kedavra'.

Harry had drained a demoniac manifestation of evil of such an enormous amount of its powers, that it  had been hardly able  of magic mischief for a  full  decade. He had accomplished this  feat without a wand and fully unaware of this skill. This had been possible, since his opponent had been  unaware  of his own demoniac power.

Voldemort had committed a big mistake with his resurrection via a totally obnoxious and unreliable Satanist rite. Taking the blood of the enemy had restored a human weakness back into an inhuman manifestation of evil. The additional use of the flesh of the servant, who held a wizard's life  debt with the foe in question –Harry- was a second point to attack Voldemort, as  long as he  did not figure out his own situation and form.  

The assumption that Voldemort the demon could be reduced into a weak shadow of  evil by exposing him to  his own weaknesses was right. 

As soon as the demon was destabilized again – as on Halloween Night 1981 – instant action had to be taken to bind him  into a powerful magic object. This object was to be either Slytherin's Shield or Gryffindor's Sword since the strife between Salazar and Goddric had been the very cause for Voldemort's coming into existence.

Harry was breathless. It all sounded so simple and clear from Merlin. 

His druids, bards and ovates nodded, as if  they really believed the task could be done. 

Even Dumbledore  and the muggle General Claude Fillon seemed  convinced and gave approving nods. 

The boy threw  Délphine a questioning look. 

'I know what you are thinking, Harry!' She whispered into his ear 'But you can be sure,  that nothing in what was stated or  concluded will be easy.  That's a historic first! No demon has ever been drained of his powers in such a  way, and  we'll have to walk on  unknown  grounds.'

'What do  you  mean?' Harry whispered back.

'Since Merlin  did not say how  you managed  to drain Voldemort, I am afraid nobody here knows it or even has a clue. So the  work assumption will be, that this came from him being a recent manifestation of evil. My brother's  'Aveda Kedavra' was hardly ten or fifteen minutes old, when you finished that 'thing' almost completely.'

'And  now he is in a better position, because thirteen years have gone bye?'

Délphine shrugged  her shoulders 'No clue, Harry! Sorry, but the experiences we have with demons are limited and very much different: They were all true creatures from Hell. They had come from  the abyss of darkness and had never ever dwelt in a  human body, before becoming inhuman. Voldemort was born to a man and a woman! This has never ever happened before.'

Before Harry could whisper his next question into Severus  sister's ear, Merlin had left his seat in the middle of the stone ring. His arms crossed behind his back, he strode up and down.

'Now,  my friends we should perhaps allow ourselves a break. I have been able to conclude from your wisdom, knowledge and findings some  useful facts and possible means of action against the Dark Lord of the Isles. What we cannot say today……….and I am unfortunately not sure myself that an answer can be found is how a mortal man has managed to transform into a demon instead of simply dying when touched with a most powerful death curse. Voldemort had been on a quest for immortality, when this had happened and many years of his life lay in the dark. All we know is that he travelled the magic world and studied in many countries and civilisations which tricks could  be employed to become immortal without the benediction of the gods.' 

The members  of the 'Gorseed' and the invitees again nodded their  approval. 

Father Yannick Le Floa'ch had been waiting impatiently for the break. Since Merlin had started with his official conclusions on Voldemort, a very peculiar idea trotted in his  head. He'd need another trip into young Harry Potter's Pensiève and Severus memory to confirm  a suspicion. 

Could it be that on  his so-called quest for  immortality one Tom Marvolo Riddle somewhere had stumbled  over  a 'normal' demon and managed to convince  or bully that thing into possessing him. On first sight that sounded funny, but why not a strange marriage of reason between two creatures of the  dark? Could it be possible? The brain he'd walked courtesy to Severus nerve and cold  blood in a life-threatening   situation had been intriguing indeed. There had been clusters of concentrate evil inside this Voldemort. And next to them  perfectly average thoughts of a power lusty, ruthless, cruel bastard with very human ambitions. 

He himself, after their meeting in the Thabor park in Rennes had advised Severus instinctively to keep young Harry as far from the  Dark Lord as possible, since possessing the boy who'd been crafty enough to almost destroy him once  would give the  demon in question not only a healthy, young and strong body without the shortcomings his decaying old form would now constantly present to him. It would also double his strength.

When Yannick had first given his advice, he  had not been through the  Pensiève experience, but now………after all his studying of the problem  and the first conclusions of the 'Gorseed'…………he threw a glance around. He'd need a wizard to give him the trip and since the closest wizard was his soon-to-be temporary employer Albus Dumbledore,  he tugged the Headmaster's sleeve to catch his attention.

Severus, Damien, Yvan and Alain were still sticking heads together with Claude and Merlin  and they had even snatched young Harry Potter from the  protective arms of Délphine. They'd tell him anyhow what they' discuss over diner and he did not risk to miss anything important by leaving them now.

"Professor Dumbledore,' Yannick smiled  slyly 'would you accompany  me on a scientific expedition into an evil mind, please! I have an idea.'

Dumbledore  mustered his soon-to-be DADA teacher from head to toe. Although most certainly not a wizard, this Benedictine had something that felt strangely like a personal brand of magic. It could be more then interesting to have a chat with him and hear his ideas about Voldemort. 

Since Father Le Floa'ch was new to  the game, he  was probably less  obsessed with pre-conceived ideas from a long and terrible war with the dark lord  that gave potential to obstruct   one's  view of important details.

'Why not, Father Yannick!'

Harry was quite happy to see the Headmaster disappear with  Severus friend Yannick. He had been living for a long time with some certainties that by now  were nothing but  lore. He needed a little bit of time to himself to simply  re-arrange his thoughts. Without analysis, he had no  desire to instantly repeat all he had heard from Merlin and Severus to Albus Dumbledore. He felt that he would not be able to cope with 'another version' and  more revelations  today.

It was already strange enough to realize that one's life had been mostly made  up of half-truth and delicate lies. And it was even worse to  realize that the very person you'd trusted completely over the last four years was exactly the one  who'd omitted to give you relevant information. As if Dumbledore had been employing him like another piece on his giant chessboard!

Harry shook his head. How many other pieces Dumbledore was pushing around on this chessboard of his?

At least his  godfather Sirius and his elusive and secretive Potions Master had the advantage of their background knowledge from the late 1970ies and early 1980ies. They had also the advantage of  understanding most of the odds they were playing against.

The boy threw a short glance at Severus. He did not envy the bat! Bound to secrecy for most of his adult life, forced to play a role 24 hours a day,  despised and hated by everybody although he had only done his  duty and sometimes even more  then this?

When Harry had told Severus that he did not hate him any longer, this had been true! He wondered how he'd handle  the next school year at Hogwarts. Severus could take all the house  points he  liked and deal him each and every detention with Filch,  he'd no longer be able to be angry with him. Harry doubted that he'd be even willing to spit some  venom in the company of Hermione and Ron. But then? Would it be a  betrayal of this enormous amount of trust  bestowed upon him to change  his attitude  and lose his bite? 

Harry pushed this thought away and slipped into a chair  between General Fillon and Merlin. He'd handle his problem when it would occur and he had the feeling that now –since too many untold stories had been finally told – he  could simply sit down and talk it over with Severus himself. 

A  house elf showed Harry a nice choice of grilled  vegetables. Since  he was hungry  like a wolf, he decided to follow  the example of his distinguished  table companions. As soon as the elf had appeared with food,  they had  stopped their discussion. Now , as if nothing at all  was  at stake, they dug in.

'Would you care for a nice  glass of wine,  too Master  Harry?' The little elf asked in a conspirator's voice, showing him a bottle of 'rosé' from the Loire valley that had already made  its way around the  table. The tiny little creature had not been prepared  for an  underage wizard off the Cat's Tables.

Before the boy could  answer, his glass was already  filled  with the fresh cold wine. Merlin threw him a  mocking glance, while Severus shook his head  at the house elf.

'Lys! One glass that's definitively all, even if he sits with us.' A silky voice gently reprimanded  the  tiny creature that already disappeared with a giggle.

'Well, 'Fillon buttered a grilled potato ' since even the youngest of our company is served now, I'll start! The Pensiève issue has  been figured out and Professor Dumbledore  has brought forward the idea to use this phenomena as  a 'magic tracking system'. Together with you, Harry we are six around this table plus one member of  our 'club'  who's absent  but he already told me his opinion.. Merlin  will not vote on this particular issue. I have three  voices for  using  this and three  against it. This  means, that you have to cast your  ballot as the one most concerned .'

Severus shot his general a mean look over his glass of wine. Merlin made a gesture that clearly indicated  that he expected  the young druid to hold his tongue.

'Albus had also  the idea of a  so-called 'test  run'. Here again I have a 3:3 situation and your voice will be decisive.'

Harry saw from the corner of his eye how Severus  atrociously tortured a  grilled aubergine. He had the feeling that the Potions Master would have rather tortured Fillon or Dumbledore then the helpless vegetable. But still Merlin prevented  him from exploding. That made it perfectly clear, where the bat had cast his ballot. He was one of the three 'Nays'. 

The boy observed his other table companions. The one who looked like Severus twin, apart his brown hair and brown eyes fixed his food. The other one who wore white ceremonial attire and seemed to be a druid too, had a very unhappy look on his face, although the food was perfect. So this was the clan of the 'Nays'. 

The other  guy - Alain - and Claude Fillon himself seemed enthusiastic. Therefore Harry deduced that  the third 'Yes' was the friend of Severus who'd disappeared with Albus  Dumbledore before diner. He took  his  glass of wine  and  treated himself to a small sip in order to win  time for reflection. He started to understand the French grown-ups  who made such a fuzz about their glass of wine with food. The 'rosé' had  a nice  taste. Severus still tormented the same aubergine that by now resembled   a torn parchment. The other young druid –Yvan-  had gone from sour face to mean look. The third 'Nay', Severus almost twin, was by now  so close to his plate that he'd soon  have either 'crème fraîche' or butter on his eagle's beak.

'I have been thinking about this  too, Gentlemen!' Harry decided that one had to start. 

Severus arched his fine, black eyebrows Hogwarts style. It was not terribly encouraging to see a sudden resurrection of 'Snape the Bastard', but  at least he  left his grilled aubergine in peace.

'I think, this is a good idea!' Harry gave a content sigh and took another sip. 

Now it was out! And he was convinced that the idea was good, because already Severus last memory in the Pensiève had allowed several  qualified  wizards to have a look into Voldemort's  brain. Merlin's conclusions during the 'Gorseed' were proof of the usefulness of a  'magic tracking system'. It had taken thirteen  years to understand who and what Voldemort was  and how they could perhaps fight him. 

'And I agree that we do a test !'

General Claude Fillon lifted his glass and bowed his head mockingly 'That's the spirit, Harry! We'll give that bastard a good kick.'

Merlin smiled knowingly.

Severus shock his head in despair and mumbled 'Damned Gryffindor bravado………………….' Between clenched teeth and a suspicious glance at his  ancestor.

His twin and the other young druid shrugged shoulders.

'Well, since we took a decision and overruled the  Capitaine de La Bédoyère, Lieutenant-Colonel Tremayne and Colonel Denez-Pregent, I will allow the gentlemen to finish this meal before convening all of you into the library of Montmuran for a short briefing.'

Harry grinned. He was sure  that Severus would make him pay dearly as soon as they were back at Hogwarts. He hardly dared  to imagine  how many house points the bat would take at his first breath or movement.

'1000 points from  Gryffindor for breathing, Mr.Potter!'

His tiny inner devil rode him and he gave Severus, who sat directly in front of him a wink with the eye. That one really needed to let his hair  down from time to time and since the House Cup was already lost before their fifth year at school  had even started, Harry had nothing to lose.

'You  are nuts, Harry!' A silky voice replied.

'You are completely nuts!' The silky voice insisted.

The voice was not angry at all, the high arched black eyebrows were back to normal  and the master of evil, sarcasm and cynicism smiled at him and shook his long black mane.

Harry smiled back. So finally they had managed to somehow really make their peace! Him and Severus……


	45. Missions

Chapter 44    Missions

Merlin beamed. The grey box sizzled and spoke and there were colourful images. With badly disguised curiosity he picked up the tiny little thing with the long, long  tail next to the box and turned it around. A mouse? Now they'd see something that had happened on the Isles only a few hours earlier and Claude Fillon pretended that the images would talk. That was absolutely, completely fantastic! Magic?

'This is called a computer, Merlin!' Harry tried to explain a little bit. 

Since Severus ancestor habitually lived in the 'Otherworld' behind the veil of the stone rings, he could not be terribly acquainted with muggle technology.

'I know, Harry!' The Old One replied to the boy's surprise. 

'It's simply enthralling that the 'muggles' can do this without magic. I have the Cauldron of Ceridwen. It works almost like this grey box. That's how I have been able to see you from time to time already before we met.'

Claude Fillon talked with someone in Paris over his cell phone. He seemed to request the transmission of certain images one of their teams in London had recently taken. As soon as the General snapped his mobile close, Harry and Merlin were gently ushered away from the PC and Damien Tremayne took the seat in front of the screen. The others brought chairs for themselves and formed a circle to have a good view. Merlin beamed even more, when the young wizard in front of him tipped in a number-letter code to open a secure Internet connection with Paris. 

'How can this machine work with all the magic around?' Harry whispered into Severus ear.

'Couple of spells is enough to shield it. From time to time, when there is a strong wave of magic the hard disk surrenders, but apart that……..most of the time it works, like the freezing chambers downstairs!'

Harry shock his head in disbelieve. He'd never ever dared to consider that the bat had even a clue about the existence of muggle technology when they'd been in Hogwarts and now…….

Damien switched the loudspeakers on when the image transmission from Paris began. It was not superb quality, but the full screen was enough to show the Southwark storage facilities of Nourredine  ben Kad'r very clearly. The Islamist dervish stood there together with his transparent  djhinij companion. Another ten armed males  with oriental features secured  the perimeter. It was  obvious that the man expected a  visitor.

'When?' Yvan Pregent asked Fillon shortly.

'Today, in the morning at 11h15. We  have now constant surveillance. Before this meeting, ben Kad'r had attended a religious service in a  nearby mosque–as is his habit.'

'See, see,' Severus pointed  Cornelius Fudge 'So here comes the British Minister of Magic on special mission for Voldemort. And what does he bring………………a Dementor!'

'Shit!' Fillon knew  exactly what a Dementor  was. 

He'd been tremendously upset with his British magic colleague Alastor Moody, when  they'd finally released Severus from Askaban. The Brit had  not even been polite enough to inform the  French that  their officer sat  in a bloody prison and was exposed to filthy  magic soul suckers. They'd simply returned  him with  some mumbled excuses and with tons of battle traumas!    

'Watch, Claude. That's interesting!' Severus told his boss as soon as the Dementor  snatched the armed guard from the floor.

'He's really sucking  that man's soul?' The General asked in disbelief.

Snape nodded 'Still alive, but soulless! No  feelings, no  scruples, no  own thoughts any more, but you can still employ them and make them do whatever you wish. They will  obey.'

The discussion between Fudge and ben Kad'r concerning  the  Dementor in exchange for bloodshed took place. Fillon shook his head again in disbelieve.

'Bastard! It is clear why he wants such a piece of filth.'

'Easier  then brainwashing.' Yvan Denez-Pregent remembered his  one and only hazard encounter with a Dementor in a god-forsaken place in Russia close to the finish border. 

It had taken him a terrible  effort to stop the creature with a Patronus Charm. All he remembered from the aftermate was the Finish wizard with whom  he had been working  stuffing  him with  Mars candy bars. It had  been dreadful and he did not care to ever have  another encounter  with such  a thing.  

'How did this filth come into existence, Merlin?' General Fillon asked the 'Old  One' casually.

'The  first was an accident,' The 'Old  One' replied 'an un-natural crossbred between a decaying corpse and  a minor demon. But this cross-bred quickly captured it,  that stealing souls and  happy thoughts allowed him to reproduce without assistance. Now it is habitually  a very strong Dementor feeding on his own kin in order to multiply. But  for this he  needs food that had lots and lots of souls and the happier the soul, the better  the result.  Since the British clan on Askaban feds basically  on prisoners,  they have a slight problem in this respect, but  it is better then nothing. The other clans are  very small, persecuted and only  able from time to time to add to their population. They are  not many!

'Thanks Heaven!'  The General replied satisfied with Merlin's explanation. 

Then he turned to his officers 'So what do you think, gentlemen?'

Harry had the feeling that this fellowship had already several discussions on the subject before. He  had  watched  the transmission with great interest. It was almost no surprise that Cornelius Fudge belonged to the bad guys. He'd never ever had a good  feeling with the Minister and his memories  of  Fudge and Malfoy snatching Hagrid on the pretext that he  was the cause for the opening of the Chamber  of  Secrets two years ago was still lively. 

He also remembered how the Minister had taken upon a defenceless and innocent creature like  Buckbeak the other year. And the scene after the Tournament, when he resisted each and every argument  on the resurrection of Voldemort, not even believing  Dumbledore  when a very angry and reticent Severus had shown his Dark Mark………

He decided to listen carefully. Fudge was a rogue and the worst species of turncoat the boy had ever come along.

'It is feasible, Claude!' Severus replied calmly.

'They are ten armed guards plus ben  Kad'r and the  djhinnij. Since you  want only those last two alive and kicking……………but a team of four, even with the moment of surprise is not enough.'

'Boss, I already need a second wand to  get the bottle ghost into a charmed bottle.  One has to bind him and another one has to instantly stuff him into the recipient and put  a very strong sealing spell on it. It is  not terribly hard, but a two-wands affair.'

'The dervish himself?'

Damien threw a glance at Alain and another at Severus. He had been teaming up with  both in the  Middle East. Severus …..that was a long time ago and he was not an expert on Middle Eastern magic…….The young wizard shook his head. He'd chose Alain.    

'You still  remember the one we cornered at Beirut ?' He  asked his comrade.

Genty nodded. But that one had been 'high'. They'd  caught him  his 'narguilet' full of 'pot' in the right and his spell book in the left, hanging like an old rag over a  battered divan and hardly able to remember the name of his mother. Anyhow, they were just wizards and if this ben Kad'r was not a terribly gifted representative of the species, he believed himself able to put a nice full body-binding spell on him……and if  nothing helped it would be 'Crucio'. Who cared about 'Unforgivables' during an operation?

Harry had the feeling that the General and the 'Fellowship of the Ponytail' intended to have a nice little muscled showdown in London. So this would  be his test run with Severus and  the Pensiève. He was quite curious which job his Potions Master – no, Capitaine de la Bédoyère – would pick…….since the dervish and the djhinij were already taken.

'Oh shit!' It  came from the seat next to him and it was indeed a terribly unhappy Severus who employed the strong word.

'Why has it always to be me?'

Harry had  absolutely no clue. What did this one complain about, since nobody had said a word?

'Sev, who'll take care of the guards, if I do the dervish and Damien with Yvan take on the djhinij? How shall we explain to the Brits an operation with ten bodies and no habitual cause of death. You cannot blast them all with 'Aveda Kedavra'  or hex them into the next century. We have to keep up a  minimum of appearances and decency!'

Alain Genty grinned maliciously. Indeed, as soon as the DST would  inform  the British authorities that they'd request permission for  a special operation against a convict killer of French nationals, they could not tell them the same moment, that the mastermind  of the killers  was a dervish. This would not do! It was already hard enough to have an authorisation for  such an operation on British territory, without adding 'magic' to  the mess.

'Oh go to Hell, all of you!' Snape moaned like a child that had got a tap on his fingers.

'The dirty jobs  are  always for me!'

'You were always good with dirty jobs, Sev!' Claude  Fillon  grinned like a malicious old, grey cat.

Merlin watched the cat fighting with amusement. He knew only  too well that Severus' morals and scruples  diminished proportionally with the criminal behaviour and wickedness of his  opponent. The load of real nasty followers  of Voldemort on his account did not  burden his conscience. His  problem  were the others……those  who had simply had the bad luck to get into  the line of fire!

'Ok, ok! But  we'll go in with two more colleagues of my own choice. And you take into  consideration that I have an appointment the day after  tomorrow.'

The computer gave a high pitching 'bep'.

Fillon gave a small nod to Snape  'Have your will, Sev! Now there's the rest of the  data transfer from London………'

Merlin gave Harry a stub and pointed the  computer screen with an air of childish delight 'See, they do this with a cell phone while I have to do a hell of a lot of spells! That's really magic.'

Harry took Merlin's arm to calm the overenthusiastic ancestor a little bit. He had to admit that he liked the 'Old One'. He was so……authentic, so real. Nevertheless the boy was by now so intrigued with the whole issue that he wanted to watch the end  of the film in peace.

Fudge and  ben Kad'r re-emerged from the Windows Screen Saver. They seemed to be best friends, drinking small cups of mint tea and smiling at one another. The  filthy Dementor  stood motionless in one  corner of the storage facility. The soul sucked  Islamist in another corner. The ten armed guards were gone. 

'So if your first operation at Charring Cross Station  on September 1st is a success, I will do my best to convince 'My Lord' concerning  the Dementor!' Fudge said in a determined voice.

'There is no need for doubts,  Mr. Fudge!' The dervish replied.

'We have already prepared the ground  and the first day after summer holidays is the very best moment for  a bloody demonstration of  our strength. Please tell your 'Lord' that we  will do our very best, if he provides me with the requested ' BC agent' on time…….and I expect  the  money  within the next two weeks!'

The screen went blank. The data transfer from Paris was over.

Merlin behaved like a naughty child pushing Damien Tremayne from his place  in front of the screen and  requesting 'Mine Clearing' a  totally stupid computer game Dudley liked to play, too. 

Severus had left his seat mumbling 'Why me? Why me?'

Claude Fillon was back with his cell phone and speaking  with Paris and the two others – Alain and Yvan – professed broad smiles and looked like cats that  had stolen the cream.

Harry felt slightly angry. 

As soon as he took out his invisibility cloak for an innocent nightly stroll through Hogwarts, he could be sure to lose tons of house  points and get the trashing of the century when caught by whomever. 

And here he was in the presence of four  grown-up and obviously fully trained wizards, a General with four stars on his shoulders and the most eminent sorcerer of all times…….and they planned naughty mischief ………….and nobody- took house  points away and nobody gave  them even something like a nasty glance. 

Although the idea of Dumbledore to function as a  'magic tracking system' was still a bit disturbing for Harry, he did not regret his determined 'Yes' to Claude Fillon and the Headmaster. 

He was quite curious to see what would come out when four serious and responsible grown-up wizards without any Gryffindor bravado and childish thoughtlessness took upon a dervish, a djhinnij, ten armed rogues and a philandering British Minister of Magic!  


	46. Loyalties

Chapter 45   Loyalties 

The decision taken to eliminate the GIA grouping from Southwark and to recover Nourredine ben Kad'r for further questioning on Voldemort's ambitions, Severus considered to take a time out. Harry seemed happy in Merlin's company.  This was a good thing. Leaving these two alone would perhaps encourage some more questions from the young man. There was such a lot he still needed to know and to understand. Albus Dumbledore had been overtly cautious for all those years, avoiding tackling the more touchy points, such as Harry's potential dark powers and the stuff he may or may not have absorbed from Voldemort. 

Although the explanations on the memory and the Pensiève had been a bit of a surprise for Severus, too it had been for years that he understood his link with Harry. Only his interpretation of the reason had always been different: Severus had been convinced that his own powers as a seer were the basis. 

Since he'd never liked to employ these powers in a coherent and organized way, he supposed that only very dangerous situations for the boy forced –so to say- a vision upon him.  

Habitually he refused to contemplate the future! He did not want to know!  What had to happen would happen anyhow and with all his other problems around he simply could not afford to add butterflies in his stomach.  Seeing the future was ok. But this gift did not change what you had seen, was it good or bad!

He left the Montmuran library without attracting attention and disappeared to his rooms in the Northern Tower. He wanted a shower and a change and perhaps five minutes of peace with Myriam. 

When Albus and Merlin had forced him to confront his past and other things he'd rather forget, it had been a very upsetting experience.  Since he could not refuse obedience to Merlin, he had been obliged to live through the worst times of his life again. In the end Merlin's unloved orders to stay and to talk had proven …………ok! He had to admit that he felt better……as if a burden was off his shoulders. But still he did not like that unfeeling attitude towards him; as if none of the elders  -Merlin, Albus, even Claude- gave a shit about what he felt inside. They simply bullied him into obedience; only their means were different!

Claude was easiest. Since Severus was a soldier and Fillon his superior, Claude would give him classic orders! Nevertheless he could accept or refuse to a certain extent, basing himself upon the laws of the République and the Service Codes of the French Forces. 

Claude never went beyond the limits. He had been in command of men for too long to ever put their health or sanity at risk, when he was able to avoid it. Claude was also terribly loyal with his men. 

If Dumbledore or Moody after Halloween 1981 would ever have informed the General that his officer sat in the Ministry Dungeons and later on in Askaban, Claude would have gone up to the highest political authorities of France to get him out……….and without giving a shit about blowing or not blowing his cover as a Death Eater. The key principle and contract between the DGSE and the intelligence officers out in the field was to bring them back at whatever price! They were willing to take terrible risks, because they knew that the service was unfailingly loyal to them. Severus still suspected Albus having withheld the information, because he knew this principle and he understood that it was……………….written in stone.

Merlin was harder then Claude:  Merlin was family; he was the ancestor and there were strong emotional ties, too!  Merlin had formed Severus. Apart Aurélian, Géneviève and his siblings, the 'Old One' had been the most determining person throughout his childhood and life as a young adult. Merlin held him by his guts! And he knew him inside out, knew his limits, shortcomings, weaknesses and…….strength. He understood exactly what Severus could or would do and what was better never asked of him. This was the reason, why Merlin had refused to vote on employing the link between him and Harry to track Voldemort via Severus. 

Severus had been strongly opposed to this idea. He did not fancy to have a fifteen years old with a heavy package to get him deeper into emotional turmoil. Already through the scar on his forehead, the boy had visions of actions of the Dark  Lord, he himself would not like to have. 

Now, Harry was already fifteen and no longer a child in the strictest sense of the word: Severus could –with some effort- accept the boy's choice, even if he did not like it very much. Harry was Harry and had a right to decide on his own! He only hoped that the boy would be able to cope with this kind of experience! 

Severus crossed his living in silence if ever Myriam had decided to leave the diner in the Medieval Garden and the chatting with friends, relatives and relations. Marie snored in the middle of the room on the carpet and Cicero was nowhere to be seen. He opened the door to his bedroom with a tiny spell. Huge wooden doors in medieval castles had a nasty habit to make noise.

Well, there were white robes thrown carelessly over a chair! He picked them up, folded them properly and put them into a wooden chest. Milady was obviously taking a bath to get the liberal amount of wine and the deliberations of the 'Gorseed' off her head.  Severus was able to make hardly any noise when moving. They'd been well taught at Lorient!

It smelled nicely of Lavender and roses in the bathroom. She treated herself to a good soak! Gently his hand caressed her shoulders.

'So you managed to sneak away from the gang of conspirators?' Myriam had heard him nevertheless. She knew Severus for too long, not to feel when he was close.

'Want to join me?'

'That sounds like an indecent proposal, Milady?' 

Instead of dropping his clothes he sat down by the side of the bathtub and continued to caress her bare, bronzed shoulders. He'd rather enjoy the view, then to get into the water. 

'They were not to hard on you, Merlin and Albus?'

Severus gave a small sigh. They had been, but finally…………..

'Myriam, you cannot always hide from the past, even if it is tempting to pretend that certain things never have happened!'

The fairy took put her slender hand over his 'But that was something you had to understand all alone. What use if I'd have nagged for years and years just to make you spit it out and get over with it. Sev, you are your worst enemy……..most of the time!'

He nodded. Basically when he was alone and had too  much time to think!

 This was the very reason, why his scientific activities had gone to heights, why he always tried to busy himself with something or tire his body to the point that he'd sleep like a stone. 

Even at Montmuran he'd play this trick……….there were always some fences that needed repair, animals to be checked and vaccinated, stuff to be done at the old buildings,  young horses  to be  broke, younger siblings  to be amused…….. Délphine never ever said a word when he helped her with her vet job, without being asked……Michel and  Gwenael never ever minded when he volunteered  for the drudgery to go to the 'criée' at Saint Malo for the auctions of fresh fish also this was  quite a jog from  Montmuran………..Aurélian never ever said a word when he  found his  son somewhere in the fields on a tractor, although they had tons of employees  paid for this job.

'When did you last time simply sit down and do nothing, Sev?' Myriam teased him. 

He shrugged shoulders, as was his habit. He had absolutely no clue. He did not even know how one could spend time doing. ……nothing!  He  always did something…….occupied hands were an occupied mind. In the worst case he'd simply  start to plant a bit around  in his mother's gardens and green houses!

Well this was the problem with Albus and why he was in fact the hardest of his three task masters: He often tried to bully Severus into doing………nothing! Sit by and watch what will happen when young Harry Potter gets his father's invisibility cloak and has a strong suspicion about the Philosopher's Stone hidden at Hogwarts. Step back and observe what comes out when a boy of twelve is suddenly confronted with the challenge to prove to hundreds of other underage pests that he's not the perpetrator of multiple  petrifications simply because  accidentally he speaks  Parsletongue. Observe with curiosity what could happen when a convict murderer is on the run, perhaps  after you and ………….your godfather! 

Well, Siri was innocent! But how should he have known. When the showdown between Wormtail the Ratman and Siri happened in  Central London, he'd been down in a Ministry dungeon and in such a nice shape that he would not even have recognized  his own mother. But Dumbledore had been aware of  it  and  had said……nothing! He  had a game  of chess running and  could not allow ……interferences. 

'You know Myriam, sometimes I'd simply like to figure out Albus! He's a secret inside a mystery within a cloud. He's my very own god-father and I've been sitting on his knees  with diapers on……….but I cannot tell you what he's up to and why he's acting the way he  does. He let's  Harry run, although he knows it is dangerous and the boy is not prepared! He holds me back, although he knows  that I  only want to keep the little one out of harms way. He gives strange clues to Harry that make him curious  and reckless…….he withholds info from me, that get me into situations where I make mistakes!'

'Siri?' Myriam asked. She'd been treated to a  very temperamental account of school year number 3 of young Mister  Potter. 

'He'd have simply told me something I could not have known………Hell, they did not pass me a fresh copy of the Daily Prophet every morning in Askaban and how  should I get it, that James and Lily had changed secret keeper on mid-road?'

'I think  that since Albus had been playing  a game similar to  yours during the war against Grindlewald,  he's  simply someone who has the same flaws and tendencies to secrecy you have, my dear!' Myriam knew Dumbledore very well indeed. She'd met him –a very young fairy- before Severus was even born. She still remembered the  other Albus, before he had made his peace  with his past!

'Maybe! But  it sucks. Anyhow, Harry has finally decided to take his life and future into his own hands.'

Myriam turned her head and looked at Severus with a startled expression in her eyes. Had she understood his words  correctly or was  she  still a bit tipsy  from the  wine? Was the right male in this bathroom or had some naughty joker taken a draught of Polyjuice?

'You ok, Sev?' She asked him with a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice. 

That one had always barked like a mad dog, whenever young Potter  had tried to take his life and future into his own hands. He'd been allowed, he would have stuffed the boy into a big feather pillow and locked him up in the deepest and most secure dungeon at Montmuran……….

'How much wine did you have?'  She sniggered maliciously.  

It was too tempting to tease Sev. Since  he was basically good-natured and when at home  hardly  ever on his guards, he'd stumble blind-eyed into her trap.

'As usual with diner! A glass or two.' 

That was a strange question! What did she think?  That suddenly with his army chums and Claude around he'd drown himself in a bottle? He had no drinking habit at all and hardly ever went beyond the customary wine with diner and glass of whisky from time to time.

Myriam  pulled his head down and kissed his mouth gently.

'Silly!' She whispered into his ear affectionate 'Harry asked you to teach him how to cope with trouble, since he knows exactly that with  the Dark One back and biting, he'll be  in for another thread soon……..and you agreed?'

'Honestly, I am not terribly keen to  do this, Dear! It is much too easy to forget that you have a young person in front of you and if you push  too hard,  they can break!'

'Then be attentive and try  to keep this in mind!'

'He's  gifted! He's more powers then James ever had ……'

'So you  must make an effort, Severus. You are the adult, he's the child!'

He knew she was right: He had strong  tendencies to be temperamental, moody, harsh to the  point  of being a mean bastard and narrow-minded when it  arranged his plans.  The students  at Hogwarts got their share of the bastard not only because of the act he was forced to play, but also  because he'd been forged in another fire and would not tolerate certain forms of behaviour, although his intellect told him that this was perfectly  normal with youngsters. 

Since he himself did  not indulge in insubordination or rebellious behaviour when in the  line of  duty, he would not admit this with  others either……and the youngsters had the problem that –like  it or not- he stubbornly  had decided one day that their duty was to learn and to …..shut up. 

'I have  to return to Voldemort tomorrow!' Severus preferred to change the subject. He'd see how to  handle the Harry-issue when the time  would come to confront the youngster and his request. 

Myriam lifted herself from  the warm,  scented water and motioned Snape to pass her a towel. 

'And?' Her voice was almost a whisper. 

'He wants his  'Smell-Nice-Potion'. He  shall  have it. He's not stupid enough to constantly damage his toys and in his actual state of decay and understanding  that  his resurrection somewhat has  gone wrong, he'll  be more……..considerate.'

Severus did not look forward to this encounter,  but he had a feeling that Voldemort's dirty muscle play had been for the audience: Malfoy had sent  him an owl afterwards to enquire if he was all right. In the same letter  good old Lucius had forgotten to keep his tongue and told him about  some cryptic sentence of Voldemort's in between the two occasions of the  graveyard and the last rally of Death Eaters, when  the dark wizard had seen his 'master' under four eyes. Voldemort seemed  to have stated that he was  not interested in those too weak or too cowardly to join him in his quest for power and that there was no place any more in his inner circle for brainless butchers and stupid yes-Sayers. They'd have to content themselves furthermore with the dirty jobs. Astonishingly –although he'd become a full-fledged demon by now – the Dark Lord seemed  to  have drawn conclusions from his failure in the past………at least when it came to his substitutes. After his first demise, nobody had  ever tried very hard to see what he had become or speed to  his assistance. They had denied him,  pretended to  have acted under 'Imperio' and as soon as the charges against his closest followers  had been dropped, each and every of them had gladly participated in the feast to share the left-overs of his  reign and to get a maximum personal profit out of it. Lucius himself seemed pretty much disenchanted with Voldemort already now, hardly six weeks after his 'resurrection'.  He, too had grown accustomed to  a  comfortable  life and his privileges. Those who had returned to Voldemort where all members of the establishment and pursuing their own aims and projects……some like Goyle,  Crabbe  or Parkinson were simply too stupid  and too much driven by old habits to not follow him again! That was a  pretty curious club,  this old inner circle re-assembled!

He pulled the towel  closer around  Myriam's body and lifted her gently from her feet.

'And if  I'd  carry you over to the bedchamber,  Milady?' No, he could afford  to be light-hearted now. The surprise effect of 15 years ago was gone. He understood against what he was up and he was no longer the  inexperienced lieutenant straight out of Lorient Special Operations Training Centre. Fifteen years were a long  time, long enough to dare and accept one's past.

Myriam cuddled contently  against his  shoulder. The hot water had made her lazy and tired.  She'd happily curl up under their blankets for a while together  with  Sev.

'Get yourself a shower and join  me.'

'As  you command.' He pulled the light linen sheets over her naked body and lighted a candelabrum  with a movement of his hand. 

An enormous barn owl slept exhausted on the back of  a 'bergère' seat in a  corner of the room right next to the candelabrum. A roll of parchment was  fixed to her left leg. Even in the dim candlelight Severus had  no problem to identify the seal on the roll from almost three  meters distance.  Black skull, green serpent – Voldemort! He crossed the distance,  avoiding waking Myriam  from  her relaxed semi-sleep. The owl opened  an  eye and he proposed her his forearm to sit on.  He'd take her into the living to read, what the  bastard wanted of him and to usher the owl away as quickly as possible with a reply. 

Severus took his wand from the  drawer of his working table and lightly tapped the owl between the  eyes.

'Montre ta magie?' This was an old French spell from  the days of Louis XIV, widely employed by  suspicious wizards at  the king's court who preferred to prevent falling victim to a friendly poisoning or cursed  object from a  concurrent. 

The owl  hooted  softly. Nothing  happened.

She seemed clean. Just an owl. It was interesting that neither Voldemort nor Lucius ever had had the  idea to charm  the owls  or birds of prey they used to deliver their messages. Fortunately none of them fancied ravens or crows as postal service! When he send out Cicero,  the animal would always spy out the addressee  thoroughly before returning to him  and relating everything he'd seen in detail. Even without express orders to do so. One was never prudent enough. And Cicero since his bad experience 30  years ago in the Brocéliande Forest was  as suspicious as  his master. Severus would never ever entrust anything important to another bird  then his very own raven…….or he'd  deliver himself when the issue was really a hairy one!

He  gave  the barn owl an owl treat and proposed some water from Cicero's bowl. Fortunately the  nasty bugger was absent on a nightly trip, probably courting one  of his many  girlfriends someplace  in the Département. A sixty or  seventy kilometres trip meant nothing to these dark  winter creatures. They were resistant, highly intelligent, capable of speech and long living  even without magic.  Cicero would have gone completely nuts over an owl drinking from 'his'  bowl!

The young one threw a short glance on the parchment. A nasty grin covered his face immediately. That was the good news of  the evening! He  was right in his  assessment of Voldemort's new approach to power hunting. And he wanted to get rid of some of the old guard……..the dead wood, so to say! Severus'  grin went even broader: That could be done for the bastard! No problem! This was  almost a wild card to ridden the surface of  the world from butchers like Goyle or Crabbe. And Voldemort encouraged  him to try and pervert youngsters into his service…….not only from  Slytherin House, but new blood………………………new blood for a new generation of Death Eaters. He sat down and took a blank parchment.

'Milord,

you bestow a great honour upon me  and I cannot express my gratefulness for this  sign of your trust. Please be ensured that you will be  fully satisfied with the plan that I shall submit for your approval soon.

The remedy you commanded  me  to brew is ready and perfect.

I wait for you calling me impatiently.

Your devote servant

S.S. '

That should do for tonight. He'd put in just the necessary amount of 'kiss-the-hem-of-my-robe-and-lick-my-boots' to be in line with Voldemort's expectations of him after their last little chat: Bent but not broken! 

He fixed the  parchment  to the owl's leg and ushered the bird  a  bit heartlessly out of his window. Normally Severus would have allowed each and every owl to recover from such a long trip, but in this case……well the poor bird would make it back to the bastard. The  weather was fine enough.

He cuddled Marie who had woken up from her nap and insisted to play a little bit with him  before treating himself  to a shower and some hours of rest with Myriam. Sleep came easily.


	47. Setting the Scene

Chapter 46            Setting the Scene 

Wormtail had left the room immediately. He still remembered the nasty remark concerning Snape's future need for original ingredients. The rat-like, bold little man preferred to create some distance with Hogwarts' Potions Master, although he would probably miss an amusing Cruciatus or two, cast by the Master upon that arrogant unbending bastard.

Severus tugged his hand into the pocket of his Death Eaters robe and pulled out the vial with the draught. Without ceremony he put it on  Voldemort's working  table.

'This potion will have an immediate effect, Milord!' He stated matter-of-factly. 

Following the  silly 'kiss-the-hem-of-my-robe' ceremony and Wormtail's abandoning of  a position of choice,  the Dark One had behaved almost rationally. He was  most probably on an island in the North Atlantic. Severus  had had a good view on  the coastline and  the house looked weather beaten from  North  North-West; he was also able  to get  a certain feeling for the direction of the wind before they had entered the hide.

Voldemort's red eyes fixed his devote follower. Although he was fully aware that Snape wore a kind of a mask,  he watched out for a motion, a hint, and a reaction .something human. There was nothing! Black  fathomless eyes, a familiar hard line of the mouth and no  muscles twitching.  The voice was cold and  detached!   Without a remark,  the Dark Lord opened the phial and drowned its content.

Severus nodded approvingly. The effect of his concoction was immediate: 'Blood  of the Unicorn,  given in  confidence!'

It did not wear off easily, too; a dose taken every week over a timeframe of three or perhaps four months would eradicate  the effects of the  'resurrection ritual'. This was perhaps intelligence he should share with Voldemort for his  own sake.  His hand  fumbled a small container from the other pocket of his robe; He had shrunk  it and  it contained a months worth of  'Smell Nice'.

Before  the young druid drew his wand from his left sleeve, his eyes fixed  the  eyes of the monster.

'You may proceed, Severus!' Voldemort's voice sounded strangely benign.  He felt inside sudden warmth. The parchment-like skin seemed  to improve under his  eyes with  each and every second. The  putrid smell that had embarrassed him  to the point to assemble his followers on a  storm-beaten cliff in the middle of a rainstorm disappeared slowly.

'Engorgio!' Severus pointed his wand at the container. It took its normal size immediately.

The Dark Lord looked at the container before his eyes fell on Snape's  wand accidentally. This was a strange tool for a wizard. As much as he had travelled the globe  in his search for immortality, he had  never ever seen such a wand. Either he did not remember from the days in the late 70ies  and early  80ies, or his Potions Master had acquired something new or he had never seen this thing before.

'Thank you,  Severus!' He said in a totally  non-committing voice.

'Bye the way………that wand of yours…….it's new?'

Snape was taken by surprise. What did this question mean. Why would Voldemort suddenly be interested in…………………Yes indeed,  the wand was engraved with ancient runes and contained powerful protections including one, that would burn each and every hand other then his, who'd dare and take  it. It was Merlin's wand!

'A family piece, Milord!' He  replied  demurely, forcing his  eyes to  watch the floor.

'Hmmm!' Voldemort still stared at the shiny light brown wood and  the visible part of the engravings. The wand  looked antiquate; it did not even have a handle…….almost like a simple stick.

'I………' Snape still fixed the floor not to allow the dark wizard to look into his eyes. 'I never could afford  another one……we had it at home. I found it after both my parents had died……in a drawer.'

Voldemort shock his head and took the container  from  the table. His most promising Death Eater could not even afford a wand of his own. So it was true that apart his miserable salary as a  teacher  at Hogwarts he had no money at  all……..and  had never ever tried to steal some.  

For a short moment the Dark  Lord thought about sending an owl to Malfoy  and instructing him to provide Snape with some funds. Loyalty should pay! Even if he could not be sure with Severus, if he was bound by loyalty or  sheer lust for power…….

He quickly abandoned the idea. The young one was a proud, arrogant bastard who'd probably refuse a gesture of that type. It was better not to dwell upon  this touchy issue and simply hint to Snape that if he did his  job  of recruiting new followers well and if the request from  Fudge's new North African partners concerning a  specific undetectable and irreversible slow poison could be fulfilled until mid-August, there could be some kind  of special reward.

Severus stuck Merlin's wand up his sleeve.  Then, with academic  interest  he perused the  Dark One's complexion.  The potion  worked marvellously well. Such a  shame to employ this with a creature that  did not merit the air he breathed  that very moment. But in order to  buy them time, the sacrifice of  Hengist had been ……adequate. 

Voldemort realized the watchful, cold eyes. He turned away from Severus and walked over  to another of these tasteless, heavily decorated baroque mirrors that were omnipresent in Malfoy's   place.  He threw a short glance. From inside his  body he knew without seeing it, that almost everything went  slowly back to normal.

'You have ten days to develop a specific agent for me!' He informed  Snape. His voice was back to its  haughty, commanding tone.

Nouredine ben Kad'r spoke in  a very low voice with his acolyte. The DGSE Orientalist starred at the computer screen, trying to read from the lips  of  the  man. His right hand fumbled the volume button of the highly sophisticated  listening device. 

'September 1st……….' They had the  date. This was already something. Now he simply needed an indication of  the place. It would  be a  train station or  one of  the  Metro  strong points in the City. All this information would be given to their British colleagues of the MI 5 in exchange for their complacency concerning a special operation  to retrieve the brain of the terrorist grouping from English soil. The man smirked. It was almost too evident: Waterloo at 8h30 in the morning! Rush hour! They wanted maximum  bloodshed for maximum terror. They would never go that far. At Quélern in Brittany the technical support team of their colleagues from Service Action was already assembling the necessary equipment to infiltrate a team of six into ben Kad'r's  den. The GIA grouping would  have the surprise of their lives:  Since the storehouse stood close to the river, they intended to go in through the canalisation. The plans of the storehouse, its accesses, the  potential escape routes and all the other important details for  their team  had been transmitted to France already for the planning. Now  the last issue  to be solved,  was timing. It was intended to do strike within the next week, before a crucial date that was 15th August for a reason not communicated  from DGSE Headquarters    close to Porte de  Bagnolet in Paris. Officially this HQ were the adjacent buildings of the 'Caserne des  Tourelles' and  'Caserne Mortier'. Unofficially it was simply known as 'La Piscine'.

The Orientalist did not care about the  deadline at this very moment. Maybe a simple whim of the combat divers of Service Action, not to work on the Emperor's birthday? Some units kept up the strangest traditions! Perhaps something else? He was  by now most  interested in  the names the acolyte gave to his boss ben  Kad'r.  They'd try  to figure them out. Since Algeria had been a French colony  for 200 years and they had been fighting each other in a long and bloody war of independence throughout  the sixties,  the French foreign intelligence was so well rooted in Algiers,  Oran, Kabylie and  other places, that they'd be able even to identify from a nickname or a 'nom de guerre'. Considering the fact that the fundamentalists indulged in considerable  cruelties against French citizens on Algerian soil, too there was  no mercy to be expected for the faces that matched the names. 

The man wrote in shorthand, while a  tape  recorder took down the original text for a second  check up.

His supervisor stood behind him, fixing the screen with keen eyes.  He was  not so proficient in the language, but he was  a highly experienced operator. He was watching out for details of the place he may not have seen before. In order  to  give their own team  their very best chances  to get  in and out unscathed,  even the humblest detail was important. Ben Kad'r's cover in  Great  Britain was Import-Export of Algerian  foodstuff and Oriental fabrics. Long rows of shelves fully  covered the right side of the place just in  front of the office of the  terrorist. He had been receiving articles of trade lately and all shelves were full. It would give the commando  from Service Action perfect cover. Nothing there was either explosive or inflammable, as  far as the supervisor could see. The team would not risk blowing  themselves up, if they  should be obliged to use harsher methods  then a bullet from a silenced machine pistol or the clean cut of a  sharp dagger. Nevertheless he was hoping that they would  not blow the place with hand grenades or other stuff. The Brits would go completely  nuts over some  large scale and  publicly visible damage of this tightly populated area of London!


	48. The Link

Chapter 47 The Link

  
  


Louisa Weigold shrugged her shoulders. That was indeed a curious turn of events. She had sent that e-mail to get back in touch and to try and figure out the guy in order to help Dieter. And now she found herself with a strange invitation for some social event somewhere in the UK.

  
  


'We may talk this over!' He had written.

  
  


Why this sudden change of mind from a man who habitually hid his secrets so well?

  
  


'Dieter!' She called her husband.

  
  


'Have a look and tell me what you think.'

  
  


The counterintelligence officer took the invitation card and the short letter from his wife. He looked at both.

  
  


'Let's go, Dear! Why not. Perhaps that guy had a sudden change of mind or he simply felt silly, when he read through your findings…….'

  
  


Louisa nodded lamely. The Snape she'd met on various conferences over the years was not a man prone to sudden changes of mind or to feelings of being silly....... 

  
  


'Anyhow, this will allow me to have a look at that tamed Death Eater, since our files do not provide for much. Fifteenth of August and formal evening dress required…….a ball or cocktail party perhaps. But why does he insist to have us use a portkey instead of simply apparating to his place in England!'

  
  


The counterintelligence officer thoughtfully turned a stylish silver Alchimist pentagram between his fingers. A beautiful object indeed! Perhaps that tame gothic Dead Eater had just some British spleen and wanted to make everything mysterious and exciting!

  
  


Louisa re-read the letter. The stately and arrogant black raven who habitually delivered magic correspondence for Snape sat on the top of the Weigold's bookshelves in their living, perusing with a suspicious eye a sleeping Falk on the carpet. From time to time he threw another suspicious look on the Weigold's. He had been treated to a language spell by Severus before he'd sent him off to Germany and his master had told him to remember each and every word of his guests-to-be.

  
  


'Let's say it that way, Dieter! I do not believe he has any nasty intention. I doubt that this Malfoy you are actually working on ever realized that the Verfassungsschutz is at his heels. You did not tell me about feeling him suspicious. Young Scherm who's after him when you take a rest is no fool either. I can only assume that my research results are really most intriguing………'

  
  


'I am sure, they are, Love!' Weigold gave a broad grin. No, Malfoy was not aware of being followed, he did not even realize that either a crow or a sparrow fly wherever he goes. Scherm had even the guts to enter his hotel room through an open window and play bird in distress, and Lucius did not react. This meant that Snape's mysterious invitation was linked to his wife's breakthrough on aconite. 

  
  


'What's special on a August 15th, Louisa? Is there something in your mind.'

  
  


Dr. Weigold the Potions Mistress shrugged her shoulders 'Well, even the Brits can be sure it will not rain in the middle of August. So if it is a garden party, he wants to make sure we get through it dry and without pneumonia. On another register; the 15th of August is the birthday of Napoleon Bonaparte! But no solid patriot British pureblood wizard would ever celebrate the anniversary of the most notorious enemy of his country at the beginning of the XIX.Century!'

  
  


'What?' Dr.Weigold the counterintelligence wizard sniggered.

  
  


'Napoleon's birthday! My, my, my……….and who celebrates this: Half the French wizarding community, who sided with the Corsican sorcerer in those days of old. And who has set me onto Lucius Malfoy's track? The French!'

  
  


'What do you imply, Dieter? I cannot understand one single word of this most brilliant short exposée of yours.' Louisa shock her head. 

  
  


Her husband had really an obsession with his job and latest case. Since the Death Eaters had caused lots of troubles in the early 80ies in Germany, when they hunted down British wizards who'd taken refugee in their country from Voldemort's persecutions.... Dieter had been at the beginning of his career then and had been heavily involved in clarifying several very mysterious murders and even a showdown in a small town in the Black Forest, where a refugee wizard blew some Death Eaters to pieces before getting himself killed on a bright sunny afternoon in the middle of a summer flee market full of non-magic folks.

  
  


Dieter Weigold served himself a glass of white wine and took his wife's hand to lead her into the garden. Cicero left his observation post and followed them, taking care not to destroy any object with his broad wings.

  
  


'Sit, Dear and I will tell you a theory of mine. It trots in my head for some days now……since we cannot find out the smallest relevant thing on this Snape: What if he does not exist?'

  
  


'Dieter! Get yourself a glass of water and an aspirine! I know that guy from many potions congresses. He's perhaps looking like an overgrown bat and may have a drop or two of vampire blood……..but he's pretty much tangible …….you can even shake his hand and drink a glass with him if he's in a less nasty mood. And his raven has already delivered to my lab on several occasions.'

  
  


'No, no, you do not understand: This mysterious and elusive creature whose curriculum vitae looks like Swiss Emmental cheese full of holes works at Hogwarts. And his only CV point are two years as a student at Hogwarts in the late 70ies.Now the French put me on Malfoy's track and Dumbledore, while fighting Grindlewald has been closely teaming up with some Free French Wizards from 'Résistance' and the forces that quit Vichy for Charles de Gaulle! What if this Snape who is so close to Dumbledore is not a tame Death Eater, but no Death Eater at all, but a colleague of mine……..from France?'

  
  


'Dieter! Let it go. That's simply stupid and far-fetched!' Louisa stated matter-of-factly.

  
  


'This guy speaks absolutely flawless, perfect British English with a posh Oxford accent. He looks like a Brit, he behaves like a Brit and he studied in Great Britain. He has a British name and about 15 years ago, when we had this Congress in the former CSSR, he came with a British passport containing a visa from the CSSR embassy in London. I saw the thing at the hotel accidentally.'

  
  


Weigold sniggered. Louisa was wrong. His guts told him that he was right and no British passport would ever prove the contrary. It was no big deal for a 'colleague' from another European intelligence service to have a true 'false' passport. And the 'Snape File' on his table simply smelled too much………..undercover and elusive. And these two traits of character were so terribly French! 

  
  


He'd accept the invitation and take the portkey………and he'd refrain from sending an express falcon to Claude Fillon in order to clarify things. If the French wanted to get in business with him that way, he'd play by the rules.

  
  


'Send a letter back and tell the gory bat that we are pleased to come! And I will get my Malfoy case concluded until August 15th. He's now so much dancing on a hot tin roof that I can take him in whenever I want on accusations of money laundering!'

  
  


Louisa shock her head and returned inside. She drafted a reply to Snape and requested the raven to take it to his master. 

  
  


Cicero stretched out his leg curtly. With a bow of his head he took leave from the German home of Dr. and Dr.Weigold.

  
  
  
  


Harry sipped his 'Menthe à l'Eau' listening together with Morigan to a nice performance of Alan Stivell, the famous Celtic harpist. 

  
  


It was warm and a soft breeze from the Atlantic provided with just enough air to sit outside long after midnight without a sweater. He enjoyed the Festival at Lorient, although the revelations of Dumbledore, Merlin and Severus still weighted heavily on his soul and mind. 

  
  


He had the curious feeling that this was not the end…….there were many more untold stories and secrets around. And the fact that Albus Dumbledore had tried to quiz him during the 'Gorseed'.........! 

  
  


Albus most certainly knew all these things, Merlin and later on Severus had told him? Weren't they working together in trust and confidence for 15 years? 

  
  


His scar itched slightly, when the very thought crossed his mind. Trust? This was certain! But full confidence? To which extend Dumbledore controlled Severus' actions? 

  
  


When Harry had been admitted into the deliberations of the 'Fellowship of the Ponytail' and their general he had a strange feeling that the one and only person besides Merlin who really had a say with Severus was the muggle general Claude Fillon. 

  
  


Had the French a double agenda and Dumbledore did not know, because they never told him everything that had been on for 15 years. Did Severus feed only details to Dumbledore and brought the rest straight back home to the Paris HQs of his own agency? 

  
  


Indeed, thinking off it; Snape sometimes did not appear for days and days in a row at Hogwarts. And he did not haunt the school corridors each and every night. As if he walked them only when something was on with Harry himself. And if Snape was not always at the school and only appeared for the classes he had to teach?

  
  


Harry gave a sigh and squeezed Morigan's hand. One thing was sure; even if the French had a double agenda, it was an agenda against Voldemort!

  
  


Snape was trustworthy and certainly not a bad guy or a double cross. He was simply first and foremost a man of his own service who had been lent out to Dumbledore and Moody. 

  
  


And since the Askaban disaster had happened, when Albus and Moody had let him down , it was understandable that he cared for closer contact with his own people who would not let him down if another emergency should happen.

  
  


'Mori, I do not want to sneak something out of you, but will you give me an answer to one question concerning your uncle?'

  
  


The girl took her eyes off Stivell and his magic harp play. She gave Harry a smile and a nod 'If I have the answer, I will. I think that Sev and Merlin told you already so much that I do not give away family secrets. Only, Harry……….please let this be between the two of us: You and me!'

  
  


'What happened when he returned from Askaban?'

  
  


Morigan shock her head 'Harry, when Sev returned from that place whose name I learned hardly 48 hours ago I was a toddler of two years! I do not know what happened. I have no memories of my uncle from when I was this tiny.' 

  
  


Morigan had indeed no memory of Severus from these days. She had memories of Gwenael and Michel and Delphine and Aurélian and Généviève and all the others……and memories of Pervenche and her daughter Lys and even of Merlin. But she had no single memory of her favorite uncle, whom she loved dearly and who was also her very own godfather and who had been a substitute for her real father since Marcus had been killed in the Gulf War four years ago.

  
  


'Harry,' she replied sadly 'I am not sure that he was ever present during those days. I have no memory of him at all...... The stuff I remember is when I went to the kindergarden and he read tales at my bedside or took me out riding on horseback. All I know is that he always had his scars and that he was somehow remote and unreal until I was perhaps six or seven years old. 

  
  


Perhaps he changed or something, but I have suddenly memories when he smiled and did silly things with us kids, as if he'd suddenly become closer and more alive. Why don't you ask Delphine? She was twelve or thirteen when her brother came back from his war. She should know.'

  
  


Harry shock his head. 'That's not the point. I think your memories are exactly the replies I needed. I do not want to know what happened literally, simply who came back from that war.'

  
  


Morigan nodded 'Someone hardly alive, Harry! Kind of a ghost of my uncle's... All I can tell you is that I have a memory from very, very tiny when I heard my grandfather shouting at Albus like a madman! Aurélian never shouts and is never mad. It was in the big living and through the fireplace and 'Papie' was playing with me and the twins when suddenly Albus head appeared in the chimney. Aurélian went nuts immediately, not even caring about us anymore. He was in such a fury……I have never seen him like that……not before and never since!'

  
  


Harry drew his breath and made a sign with his tumb over his wrist 'The scars there I presume? I have seen them, too. I have the feeling that something really terrible happened with Severus and ever since he does not fully trust Dumbledore. He let him down in Askaban and afterwards perhaps, too!'

  
  


He thought for a moment. If Albus had let him down for a good reason, Severus was intelligent enough to accept this as a 'raison d'état', a very good and political reason, where Dumbledore simply could not act in a different way. But if he'd let him down on another subject where no reason of state -so to say- was involved, would Snape still play along the lines of the Headmaster's plan? 

  
  


The scars on Severus' wrists were clear even for Harry's fiftheen years old self: Someone had tried to open his veins with a sharp object!

  
  


That smelled strangely like attempt suicide and to do this, a person had really to be in absolute distress or totally destroyed by something that even with the support of a wonderful family he cannot bear any longer……What had been so terrible a number of years ago before he started to teach at Hogwarts that made him do something so dreadful and final...since Severus had not made the slightest fuss about his last encounter with Voldemort, although he'd come back hardly alive and with all those old scars reopened?

  
  


So it was not the Ministry dungeons and Askaban and all the cruel things they'd done to him, it was something deeper……..and a break of trust was deeper and could perhaps never be repaired.

  
  


When his own scar had given its stich a few moments earlier, Harry had had a queer feeling that Severus was again called by Voldemort. As if he physically felt the Dark Mark activate. And only a second later he had the even queerer feeling that someone had deliberately interrupted that connection. As if Severus had switched off the radio, because he did not want Harry and therefore perhaps Albus to know, that he had returned to the Dark Lord? 

  
  


So his young Potions Master, now being fully aware of the link between the two of them and how this link had been created and how it worked had found a mechanism to sever it at will in order to provide or not provide an information through Harry to a third person that was the Headmaster of Hogwarts!

  
  


Harry laid his arm around Morigan's shoulder and returned his attention to Stivell's music and the lively crowd that had invaded the old market place in the center of Lorient. He did not want to spoil this beautiful night with his habitual brooding over subjects he considered suspicious or intriguing at first sight. If he was dead honest with himself; this kind of attitude had already caused him an enormous amount of trouble. He was able to recall lively the memories of his first year at Hogwarts, when from mere guesswork and suspicions, because of Severus' bat-like appearance and unpleasant attitude, he'd embarked with Ron and Hermione upon a dangerous quest to save the Sorcerer's Stone single-handedly (indeed the three of them had six hands) from the grip of a ‚dark wizard'. In the end -although they had indeed done kind of a good job - all the suspicions and guessworking had turned out completely wrong.

  
  


What had Professor Quirell told him in front of the Mirror of Erised?

  
  


‚Severus? Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirell?'

  
  


Harry lively remembered that he had not been able to take it, even from Quirell's own mouth. He had been convinced, that this couldn't be true, it couldn't. He had insisted in front of the man who had been carrying Voldemort under his stupid turban, yearning for a confirmation of his key suspect.

  
  


‚But Snape tried to kill me!' He had told the wizard who had been teaching them Defence against the Dark Arts then.

  
  


Even when Quirell told him, that while he himself had been trying to kill Harry while Severus was running after him wherever he wandered, in order to save his life, Harry had been dunce head and refused to accept this as a fact. And then Quirell had started to attempt upon his life...................

  
  


Morigan cuddled contently against his shoulder. He felt a strange sensation of full relaxation through his body. At the simple physical contact of his ladylove, the tension that had been building up in Harry drifted away slowly. He took a deep breath of the fresh, salty Atlantic Air. Stivell's harp sent a marvellous tune into the crowd of spectators and they broke into applause when he took his hands finally off the strings.

  
  


Although everything had turned out fine in the end, it had been a huge mistake first to judge a book by its cover and have a fixation on the so-called ‚odd-man-out'. He had been eleven years old and a total newcomer to the wizarding world. His judgment had been tainted by his loveless childhood at the Dursley's and an unstilled hunger to prove himself, to make friends and to get other peoples recognition, respect and admiration. He'd been driven by a terrible need to show to himself that he was good at something.......not just Dudley's punching ball or Vernon's and Petunia's house elf.

  
  


Now he was fifteen! He had a girl by his side who loved Harry for being Harry. He was no longer a child and he had his head to think logically and to weight the pros and the cons before acting. Although not a grown up, he felt he was growing up into some kind of a young adult, whose eyes should be fixed on other horizons then reckless and mindless pursuits and quests and adventures.

  
  


Quests and adventures where fine when nothing else was on the programm to disturb you with having fun, but at this very moment the time was no longer for childrens play: Voldemort had managed to ressurect from the ashes of the past and he was indeed still after him. Harry made the secret vow, that the dark evil monster would not get him this time, simply because he was brash and temperamental. He'd think first and act afterwards and he'd get himself all the necessary weapons he'd need to defend his own skin when nobody else would be there to stand up for him and pull his neck off the henchman's block!

  
  


If Severus had decided to sever their link this night, because he did not want Dumbledore get information on a meeting with Voldemort, instead of suspecting his Potions Master, he'd ask him straightforward and face to face for the reason why.

  
  


Another group of musicians had replaced Stivell on the old marketplace and when they started to play, Harry felt suddenly a strange scourge of relief that did not only come from Morigan's warm and lively presence by his side. 

  
  
  
  



	49. Sybil Trelawney's Second Prediction

Chapter 48Trelawney's Second Prophecy

  
  


Alastor Moody threw a suspicious glance at the exhausted looking man in full Death Eater regalia. Alas, he knew who was hiding behind these gory black robes and he had no need to be suspicious at all, since it had been him who had brought up that idea fifteen years ago and never ever regreted the choice. But it was not the outfit that made Moody twitch, it was the look on Severus' face. 

  
  


He had just returned from his encounter with Voldemort and he was deadly pale under his sun tan.The habitually fathomless black eyes were a statement in themselves and then Severus sunk onto a chair like an old rag......as if his knees were to weak to keep him standing.

  
  


'And this was only your second meeting with the bastard!' Moody tought. His magical eye scrutinized the younger man for traces of Cruciatus or another nasty and painfull spell. He had made it a habit to do this check up, since during the first war against Voldemort Severus had often returned saying nothing and just dragged along alone like a wounded animal. Blasted Gallic pride!

  
  


Moody had apparated to Montmurant some twentyfour hours ago and was now fully informed on what had been going on since Voldemort's resurrection at the beginning of the summer from this side of the chess board. 

  
  


Although Albus Dumbledore had shown certain concerns as to the rough-and-ready French plan to destroy one-by-one support means and potential allies of the Dark Lord in order to undermine his plan of re-building one of the most dangerous and efficient terrorist networks that had ever existed over the last three or four centuries, Moody himself could not but agree with General Fillon and his superiors in Paris. 

  
  


For Alastor, as an expert in the field of the Dark Arts, the revelation of Voldemort as a demon pressed this point with even more urgency. He had been through the Pensiève memory and wandered the pervert mind of their enemy for a while.

  
  


Severus tried to get his nerves back under control. During the meeting he had been cool and collected. He had been trained to be cool and collected when involved in peculiar situations of this type and the last fifteen years of service had given him a fair amount of own practical experience on how to keep his heartbeat down, his breathing under control and his thoughts closely hidden away from each and every attempt to penetrate his mind.

  
  


Now with the level of adrenaline going back to normal in his blood, he felt shaky and panicking. His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt a strong desire to take a sprint to the next bathroom and vomit the full contents of his stomach into whatever recipient. 

  
  


From a purely rational point of view, his shakiness and being sick were normal; these things happened when one came out of a dangerous situation unscathed. He 'd felt exactly the same during the commando training at Lorient, when they had been requested to jump for the first time with a parachute........but he had to admit honestly, it did tremendous good to let go for a while without endangering his life and physical well-being.

  
  


'Well,' He threw the whole attendancy an awkward smile 'so much for today!'

  
  


The next thing he did was to conjure a huge mug of extra strong coffee. Although extra strong coffee had no reputation as a calming potion, holding the mug would at least prevent his hands from shaking or from fumbeling with the fabric of his Death Eaters robes. Then he explained the succes of his restaurative potion upon Voldemort and the immediate recovery of the Dark Lord from the consequences of his 'Blood-Flesh-Bones ' ressurection in the graveyard.

  
  


'How much time did this buy us?' General Claude Fillon asked Father Le Floa 'ch and Albus Dumbledore who had jointly spent most of the last twentyfour hours inside the Pensiève and Voldemort 's brain.

  
  


'Do not worry, this move buys us a lot of time to work on his destruction! I strongly doubt that he will ever understand that by now he is a full-fledged demon, Claude. Severus has been in a zone of his brain, where the Dark One keeps strong memories of his triumph over death and his cleverness to trick himself into the exclusive club of the Immortals of this world.'

  
  


Dumbledore nodded. They had seen a difuse thing within Tom Riddle that repeated almost incessantly 'I did it! I did it! I tricked a demon and took his demoniac force in order to finally overcome mortality and that silly creature of hell not even realized that instead of him possessing me, I possessed him.' 

  
  


In his over 140 years of life, Albus had never ever come across this type of childish behaviour in a grown up, full-fledged dark wizard. 

  
  


The lust for power and dominance where defendable. His make up pureblood ideology could be explained as a means to domineer weaker spirits, as a tool to keep his brainless followers happy. The pureblood ideology was a unifying factor around which many in the wizarding world could assemble, since it was the one and only thing that distinguished them from muggle-born wizards or half-blood wizards who held better and more developed magic powers then they had, who'd achieved more sucess in life or held better social positions. Voldemort 's brutality and lust for torture were perfectly clear, too: Control exerced through violence and kept by the sheer horror and fear of those who were on the receiving end had been the traditional system of dictators to maintain control and stay in power.

  
  


'The agent Voldemort requests from you, Severus? Do you think it necessary to develop it?'

  
  


Snape fixed Fillon for a short while before he turned to Dumbledore. He took a sip of coffee to have time to think a little bit more. Claude had left this issue at his own discretion. 

  
  


A long time ago, after his return from Voldemort in the early eigthies he had been doing similar research for his own folks. It had been times of great political tension in the non-magic world and the Soviet Union -still a terrifying power with a will to impose its communist ideology upon those too weak or too uninformed to resist- was rumoured to have a number of research programmes running on the same issue.

  
  


Severus still remembered with disgust that he had had several breakthroughs which were proven totally undetectable to even the most sophisticate non-magic devices. Could he dare to hand over such a silent, secret death to the Dark Lord? If the operation against Ben Kad 'r would be a sucess, the potential user was gone by the time he 'd deliver it on that windbeaten island in the North Atlantic. It were probably the Orkneys! 

  
  


He gave a small miserable sigh: It did not need Algerian Islamists to employ such a weapon! 

  
  


Whoever dumb enough to forfeith his own life could drop a phial in a public place and cause maximum damage. 

  
  


Severus closed his eyes and let his head fall into his leap. This was a decision he did not want to take himself. He'd feel better to receive an order, something to clutch in his hands and read and re-read if a catastrophy would occur.....an official excuse to sooth his conscience in case of collateral damage and the dying of innocents. 

  
  


Giving an agent to Voldemort even though the fanatic dervish and his blood-lusty grouping were blown from the surface of the planet would most certainly further improve his standing with the monster and level his risk of getting a green flesh of light or worse straight into his chest one of these days. 

  
  


Producing nothing tangible at his deadline of mid-August would certainly contribute to a tremendously messy nightly session with a fuming and raging Voldemort, who weld the Inforgivables with the same ease a Montmuran house-elf served food and coffee to the guests. 

  
  


Well, he could still modify one of the less dangerous things they had in a top security lab at the Paris Pasteur Institute and which had been kept, since it was supposed to be useful as a neutralising bacteria against several non-magic Anthrax strings that were under development in a couple of rock state laboratories as militarized and therefore less volatile warfare agent. But handing this to the Dark Lord.........?

  
  


‚Claude,' Severus muttered ‚this decision cannot be mine. Please!' 

  
  


Just being a coward for a minute or two, just getting rid of this burden for a second, just receiving a clear and precise order from a superior. He was still too shaky from the meeting with Voldemort to be back to his normal self and logic: No orders would take away the distress, if ever something should go wrong.........

  
  


The general stepped over to his officer and gently placed his hands on Severus' shoulders. The hands were warm, alive and soothing after the deadly cold of Voldemort. A little bit of the tension went away and made Snape lift his head enough to look into the eyes of Albus and Moody and the others. 

  
  


He was trying to read their facial expressions, searching for a hint, a clue, a piece of advice. Claude was only willing to comfort him. He was obviously not incline to take away his decision to make a choice between the easy way and the right way. 

  
  


Slowly Severus shook his head from left to right. He'd not give away this kind of stuff to a mad monster. He'd rather take Voldemort's wrath!

  
  


‚You sure, Sev?' Fillon asked gently. 

  
  


He was perfectly aware of all the pros and contras with both possibilities. If ever Voldemort laid his hand upon something nasty and uncontrolable, he could not only emply it but also reproduce it..........with or without the young one in the laboratory. The difficulty lay in developing those agents, not in analyzing their composition and reproducing them. That requested only good lab equipment, an access to the components and a good and cold-blooded scientist whose hands would not tremble too much.

  
  


‚He will get a controlable poison from me, but most certainly not an uncontrolable highly dangerous bio-agent!' Suddenly the younger man's voice was firm again and the steel had returned to his eyes. 

  
  


‚The Dark One explained a specific task,' he continued with an awkward smile. ‚He explained precisely for what this agent shall be used and therefore I -his devote servant- take him at face value, without employing my brain. What shall he say? Betrayal! Incompetence! Sabotage!'

  
  


‚Incompetence at its worst.' Murmured Albus Dumbledore. 

  
  


It was certainly better to risk this, then Voldemort taking the mega-blood shed on September 1st into his own hands, after his new allies had been eradicated. And if Severus played with his habitual cunning, he'd get out of the mess at least alive and kicking. 

  
  


Already in the olden days, when Moody's aurors regularly interupted pleasant little entertainments and the joyful casting of ‚Morsmordre' over some victim of choice he'd been able to talk himself out of suspicion. Voldemort had been aware that he had a traitor or even several traitors in his ranks, but he had never ever thought it could be the young one. The Headmaster smiled. A spy who was also an occlumens had its advantages!

  
  


Although mumbled softly and into a long white beard, the statement from Great Britain lifted the veil of doom that hung over the conspirators since Severus' return. The young one shook off Fillon's comforting hands and riddened himself of his Death eaters regalia.

  
  


‚Filth!' He spit, before throwing the black robes disdainfully into a corner of the room.

  
  


‚So when is the showdown in London to take place?' 

  
  


Moody drew a breath of relief. Severus was back to normal and with a functioning brain. After fifteen years of undercover work it often did not need a lot to push someone over the edge and into a breakdown. Hopefully in that specific case the breakdown was still further away in the future. 

  
  


At this very moment with no one else close to Voldemort the loss of Snape would imply a complete loss of reliable informations on the plans of the Dark Lord and the restructuring of his organisation and getting someone else close enough to investigate would cost them at least a year or two of uncontrolable activities of the bunch. 

  
  


Alastor had one person in mind, whom they could build up as a substitute for Severus, if ever he should lose his nerve or get into harms way, but they had to play it carefully and slowly, since Percy Weasley was very inexperienced still. 

  
  


He had done a good job and his position within the Ministry of Magic since Barty Crouch was gone had sufficiently strengthened. Now he was to attract Fudge's attention! 

  
  


First, Albus and Alastor had thought of using Percy only as a spy on the Minister of Magic in strong opposition to the plans of the British High Council of Magic. Now, since Severus had brought his name back home from a meeting of the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters, he had become the choice candidate to get himself a Dark Mark and stand ready in a case of emergency. 

  
  


The former head of the Unspeakables gave a small sigh. Molly and Arthur had no clue! They had taken it badly and shunned their eldest son. He would go and see them soon and clarify a few facts.......and he'd have a serious discussion with Snape. Hadn't Voldemort requested him to recruit other then Slytherin? 

  
  


‚Fourtyeight hours!' Fillon did not look at Moody. His hands were back on Severus' shoulders and he had turned his young officer around to look into his eyes and face. He gave him a small questioning glance that asked clearly if he'd rather back out and accept being replaced by someone else for the Ben Kad'r issue. The general understood perfectly well that confronting Voldemort twice in a very short timeframe and then participate in an operation was a bit much.

  
  


Albus Dumbledore observed the scene with curiosity. Claude had quite a way to handle his soldiers! It was hardly astonishing that they'd cross a ring of fire for their boss........or confront a mad demon. Severus replied with a nod and a hardly audible but firm ‚I go, Claude! No need to worry.'

  
  


Somehow the Headmaster envied that utterly non-magic professional spymaster his capacity to handle Sev and his temperament with so good graces. And it was not a matter of superior and orders! It was a matter of complete trust between these two. 

  
  


Would it be easier to manage him and his foul moods and nasty tempers today, if Alastor and Albus had not let him down after Haloween Night 1981? 

  
  


Dumbledore observed the younger man speaking to Fillon, telling him probably something about the encounter with Voldemort he'd never entrust to either Albus nor Alastor. Giving him keys and hints that could be helpful for the High Council of Magic too, but that now, would disappear somewere in the French stack of cards only to be pulled out of Claude's sleeve if he'd judge it useful for his own plans and sucess. 

  
  


Well, perhaps the most trusting co-operation between two different countries and worlds had ist limitations and shortcomings! Maybe he had simply to live with Severus lack of trust and Claude's own obscure strategy? Or maybe he had to put more energy into winning the young one over again instead of putting him constantly under pressure, caring only for his overall grand strategy and plan and hardly considering the human factor that was Severus. He'd always treated his very own goodchild as if he were a weapon of war, a tool, a knife that would cut deep into the tumor that were the remainders of the first rule of Voldemort. He'd never say it loud and clear and to this audience: Albus had simply forgotten about Severus having a soul, a heart, morals, scruples and feelings. He had ordered him around and the young one had always snapped to attention and obeyed. And more often then not he had simply forgotten to put his hands on Severus shoulders, to throw a glance into his eyes and face and to ask him the silent question if he was ok! The Speaker of the British High Council of Magic walked over to Fillon and his officer.

  
  


‚Severus, may we have a word under four eyes, just you and me?' He interupted the general, who was telling the young one with a low voice that everything would turn out right and that he should not worry in reply to an earlier question Dumbledore had not overheard.

  
  


The young one nodded and followed him over to the window sill in his father's office, where they had elected headquarters for the night. Aurélian himself had refused the invitation to attend. He considered it unappropriate to stick his nose into a business that was no longer his since he was retired from the French Forces and held no official security clearance of the requested level.

  
  


‚What is it, Albus?' Snape asked calmly. He had finished his explanation to Claude Fillon on the way he had found for closing down the link between him and Harry that had been created during Haloween Night 1981 by accident. 

  
  


It had been a little bit his own test run since he was still not happy that Harry wished to poke his nose into the Southwark operation in order to see if Voldemort could be tracked. There had been no afterthought and no plan behind his ‚switching off' the radio! Just a test to see if it would work if ever an emergency should require such an act........if ever Voldemort found a way to sneak into Severus' brain. 

  
  


Voldemort was tremendously skilled at mindreading and this had always been a clear and present danger for him. It was not enough to be tremendously skilled in this craft, too and to possess Occlumancy as an add on to beguile a demon.............

  
  


‚I think, it is time for me to make excuses for an act I commited a long time ago, Severus.' Dumbledore started.

  
  


‚I never told you the full contents of Sybil Trelawney's prophecy! They were the reason, why we forgot about you in the Ministry dungeons and in the Askaban death row. In fact, we were so relieved to have the final weapon against Voldemort alive and kicking in our hands, that we no longer cared about another prophecy of Sybil's that had been made shortly after the one that concerns Harry. I think you should learn it today and then make up your mind as to your attitude towards me. I am fully aware that I cannot force you or order you around, child! I am also fully aware that I made your job, since Harry's come to school, more then once difficult without explaining myself and I do understand, that you prefer to tell your own folks before telling me, since I have let you down.............while Claude has not!'

  
  


Severus shook his head and whispered inaudibly for the others ‚Albus, let it be! I have no problem of trust with you and although the aftermath of Haloween 1981 has taken years to digest.......it could not be helped......the Ministry dungeons, Askaban and the rest. I was fully aware from the very beginning that something could happen.....that one day or another I could be caught and for my cover's sake not retrieved the very moment of the capture. Let it be! That's a risk I was willing to take, although I was mightily upset when a hypothesis became suddenly a reality!'

  
  


The Headmaster cut him short and spoke sharply 'The Dark Lord is the beast that has been loosed upon the world who has tasted human blood and now must be destroyed. The Raven is my servants that I have stationed to protect the helpless one and to hunt down and destroy that which would hurt and destroy my little one, the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord and who will be born as the seventh months dies. Since the Raven when he defies the Dark Lord three times will hand my little one his shield. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord thrust in the sword with all his might and know that the Raven not only fights beside him but that the power of the Raven is inside him as well giving him the might to strike sure and deep to the heart of the beast that would slay my sheep and that the victory is already won for those with courage enough to start the Hunt!'

  
  


‚Well, sounds perfectly like Sybil. How many glasses of sherry did she drink before telling you this stuff, Albus?' 

  
  


Severus had absolutely no problem to understand the meaning of the second prophecy of Trelawney. He was a druid and skilled in the field of reading prophecies for what they were. It meant that they had to do it all over again, as during Haloween Night 1981, but this time in a more co-ordinate way and together and that he'd be obliged to start the attack upon the Dark One in order to weaken his power and............hand his shield to the little one Harry. To Severus that ‚shield' sounded strangly like old dark magic his kin habitually used under such circumstances........raise the storm of the elements in front of a foe! 

  
  


Dumbledore grinned. He was perfectly aware of what was going on in this complicate brain and soul of Severus' and for once -since it was all about trust- he decided to lay ‚HIS' cards onto a table.

  
  


‚I heard the first prophecy from Sybil about a months before Voldemort fell. The conclusive line of it implied that only one of the two could stay alive. To me that was enough: Raise Harry into the nemesis of Voldemort and get over with it. There was no other player involved and I was convinced you'd handle this tingy little problem of the Ministry dungeons without a problem. Mind, Sev! You and Lucius were the two highest-ranking Death eater they'd ever captured alive and Lucius left the dungeons hardly four days after his capture in splendid health and all smiles. I had no idea that Crouch had ordered his people to employ Unforgivables and coldblooded torture and since you were simply ushered away to Askaban for further treatment, with a long row in front of you for a Dementor's Kiss, you were hardly my most pressing issue. The issue was Harry, the Trelawney Prophecy and the fact that this implied Voldemort's return. All signs pointed to him being grounded only temporarily and we had no idea what delay we should have before him coming back.........'

  
  


Severus nodded. His black eyes were sad, but nevertheless apprehensive. He felt slightly disappointed that on a simple human level -Albus was his goodfather-feelings of affection and even love had not overcome a cold sense of duty, but he was able to understand with his brains what his guts would not accept. 

  
  


‚Now when did she bring up her Prophecy Number Two?' He asked with a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  
  


‚I always believed she'd let go of that Sherry bottle couple of years ago, when you gave her a job at Hogwarts?'

  
  


‚Severus, I already knew this when you came back to Hogwarts to claim Harry! She'd had another vision on Haloween Night 1982 exactly at the moment, when one year before Voldemort had lost his last ounce of humanity and almost all his powers to the two of you. Sybil was one of the reasons, why I had to say ‚No' and keep the two of you apart! How could this prophecy fullfill with me handing over the boy to those of the Old Religion? He'd have gone to Avalon! He'd have been taught by your ancestors and Merlin and one day he'd come back with either a Raven branded between his eyebrows or not at all. I was not willing to take the risk of having him receive the Raven and I was even more unwilling to take the risk of losing him during the initiation rite! For each of your kin who makes it through the rings of stone there is one who dies, Severus! You know this perfectly well and you know that not even Merlin has the right to refuse an ‚anruth' to lift the veil. Harry had to be preserved at all costs, since only Harry can finally destroy Voldemort.'

  
  


‚And it will need the help of the Old Religion to accomplish this deed?' Snape lifted an eyebrow and threw Dumbledore a mocking glance.

  
  


‚Can't you ever clean up your messes without us?'

  
  


‚Not as long as the four houses of the founders are divided, Severus! It is all about balance and in the actual situation with an even deeper rift between Slytherin and the other three it simply requests for the assistance of those, who already at the very beginning warned us from creating a cause for segregationism.'

  
  


‚The Old One?' The young one asked with a certain despair in his voice. After meeting Voldemort he simply felt not like lifting the veil and crossing the stone ring into the Otherworld with Albus attached as a parcel to his soul and force of life. He had already given a lot of them in order to allow Merlin to attend the ‚Gorseed' and walk Montmuran and its surroundings with a physical form three days. 

  
  


‚He knows. I spoke with him and explained the two prophecies and my reasons for refusing your kin to educate Harry. He accepted to side with us again, if you agree of your own free will!'

  
  


‚Do I have any another choice, Albus?'

  
  


‚I cannot tell you, child!'

  
  


‚Did you speak with the Centaurs?'

  
  


‚They refuse to answer my questions! I do not know the reason why.'

  
  


‚The three times I have to defy the Dark One? Any clue?'

  
  


Dumbledore gave a grin. Factually Severus had agreed and he was back to business again. There was also a chance that this decision of the young man would weight upon Claude Fillon's obscure master plan and grand strategy.

  
  


‚First time it was Halloween Night 1981. This one is sure. The second one was when you returned to him a couple of days ago. There you literaly ‚defied' Voldemort. We found it out together with Father Le Floa'ch during our last scientific expedition into Harry's Pensiève and your memory.'

  
  


Dumbledore fell silent and smiled awkwardly. They had Number 1 and Number 2. Number 3 was still to come and only Severus himself was judge on how to defy the monster again, inflict harm upon him and not getting caught in the game.

  
  


‚I think of it, Albus! Perhaps not today or tomorrow. Let's first get rid of this dervish and his bottle ghost and his ragging hord of fanatic half-wits........and then I think of it!' 

  
  
  
  



	50. Ashes to Ashes

**Chapter 49 Ashes to Ashes**

Lucius Malfoy strolled carelessly along the Rhine Promenade at Koblenz. The sun was shining brightly over the dark, cool waters. Several ships full of tourists off to see the Loreley Rock drifted by. Down on the banks people took sunbathes during lunch hour break or were simply spending a nice day out in the open air. 

He was satisfied with the conclusion of his dealings on Lord Voldemort's behalf. Berling & Feucht had arranged all money transfers from the US and the full amount of German holdings lay in neat, crisp cash in the brokerage's safe chamber in the basement of their facilities. It was impressive and even with the four Delsey's, each containing one million US Dollars shrunk, he'd have a nasty feeling travelling back to great Britain. Lucius shook his head before choosing a little cafe on the embankment. Nasty feeling! Silly! How could one get robbed when nobody knew about the shrunk luggage in the pocket of his trousers? He'd leave the country apparating back home from a secretive place in the Botanic Gardens of Koblenz.

,May I take your order, Sir?' A girl in her early twenties with a cute, very short summer dress asked politely.

,I would like to have some Earl Grey Tea and a sandwich, lettuce, ham, tomatoes and the like, please!' Lucius replied with a smile.

He did not realise that a little sparrow had taken a seat on the rim of a huge flower bucket that decorated the entrance of the cafe. The tiny animal seemed tremendously interested by bread crumbs and other niceties the guests would accidentally throw on the floor.

A car slipped into a parking slot right in front of the cafe and its two occupants opened the windows, lightened themselves cigarettes and toke Coke cans and lunch bags from the back seats. The gave the impression to just take a short break from whatever their occupation. 

Dr.Dieter Weigold in casual light brown linnen trousers, a matching linnen jacket carefully thrown over his wand, which he held ready in his right hand, chose a seat directly behind Malfoy. They had had a long discussion about how to take him in. Since he was by now fully aware with whom he'd have to cope, he opted for a public place and maximum backup from policemen in civil clothes including the two officers in front of the cafe who sat in a parked car. Nothwithstanding the holiday  season they  had managed  to scrap together all remaining magic personal of his  own administration and from the law  enforcement units around Germany's former capital Bonn. He wanted to convince Malfoy to come with him without a showdown, like the one he had witnessed at the very beginning  of his career in a small town in southern Germany.

The young waitress who some minutes earlier had thrown a polite smile at her guest, placed the tray with his order slowly on the table. Her eyes were no longer smiling but frozen with fear. The very moment she'd come in, a man showing a police insignia had requested her to proceed as usual and to bring tea and sandwich out. Then she was to leave the outdoor premises of the café in order to not interfere with a 'police operation', as the officer had turned it. To the young girl that smelled pretty much a showdown, as she  had seen many times on the  television.

Dieter Weigold moved his chair a bit closer to Malfoy and dropped his jacket on another chair. He slowly and silently moved his wand into a position where he could employ it in case of need without any delay.

,Mr.Malfoy?' He addressed Lucius softly  who turned his back, pouring some tea into a porcelain cup.

  


The shoulders of the dark wizard straightened instantly and he dropped the tea pot with a loud noise onto the silver tray in front of him. Boiling water spilled over the table's marble plate. Lucius right hand slipped in a smooth, quick move into his jacket, where his wand was hidden within a pocket.

,I do not recommend any move of yours that you would only regret within the second.' The tip of Weigold's own wand, carefully hidden from non-magic eyes by a large flower pot that served as a border between the terrasse of the cafe and the adjacent restaurant touched Malfoy right between his shoulder blades.

,Whatever move you may attempt,' The counterintelligence officer whispered ,You should be aware that my wand is pointed at you already whilst yours is still under this jacket you wear. We can make it easy now...' He pressed the wand tip a bit firmer against the dark wizard's back , and you simply stand up, so I may escort you to the red car you see right in front of us and then I take you for a ride and we discuss issues over between two grown up and responsible wizards, or you draw your wand, and nothwithstanding all these non-magic bystanders you can see, I'll hex you straight into the next century!'

Lucius' shoulders dropped. He felt the wand tip clearly between his shoulder blades. He knew that even if the man behind him was not tremendously quick, his pointed wand was an advantage over all of Malfoy's own duelling skills and magic powers.

,Well, in this case....' He replied with a deep sigh ,Let's go and get over with it.' 

Lucius had no clue who could point a wand at him in Germany, right in the middle of a peaceful summer afternoon on the borders of 'Old Father Rhine' as they liked  to call  the important waterway that  had always been their natural frontier with France  and over which they had fought many a strife with their neighbour. He had even less of a clue when it came to the question, why his unknown opponent with the calm, self-assured voice knew his true identity. 

He stood up , careful with each and every gesture in order to make it clear to the unknown menace with the wand that he intended no mischief. When he finally turned around to face his opponent, he felt a hand slipping quickly into the inner pocket of his jacket withdrawing his wand, even before he perceived Dr.Weigold's sun-tanned smiling face.

,You are a wise man, Mr.Malfoy! I did not expect anything else of you…..' The counterintelligence officer admonished with an amused glinter in his dark eyes.

Hardly half a meter from the strange pair a tiny little sparrow took off from his place of choice on the flower pot's rim. He did not simply speed away, he hovered carefully alongside Malfoy and Weigold, who crossed the street towards the red Opel Omega with the policemen in civil clothes.

,May I know, what you want?' Lucius asked in a low voice. His now alert mind realised that several of the casual bystanders made disappear 'stuff'  either up a sleeve or within a summer trouser's pocket or within some lady's handbag. They gave simple nods in Weigold's and his direction before they disappeared unceremoniously within the  stream of holiday makers on the Rhine-side.

'Obviously Germany's aurors do not show off in fancy uniforms!' Lucius thought bitterly. He felt instinctively that the 'stuff' had been wands and the casual bystanders his opponent's backup. From the sound of his voice, when he forced  himself into a reply , it was clear that he was not only tremendously upset.......but outright puzzled. And without his wand he was as helpless as a newborn child. 

  


The closer they came to the car, the more other 'casual bystanders' were surrounding Malfoy and Weigold, shielding them against the curious glances of passers-bye and any reaction the  British dark wizard could have in a sheer fit of dispair.  It was clear to Lucius that those were at their ready to draw their  wands at the slightest  move of his. 

Malfoy would be taken for standard proceedings to the closest police  station and from there -all transfer papers lay ready in a dark brown attachée case inside the Opel Omega - he'd experience  a rough portkey ride to a high security detention facility that had undergone careful warding and shielding against apparating or dis-apparating attempts of any kind. 

To ensure the correct treatment during interrogation by the German counterintelligence, a high-ranking police officer who had necessary clearances for magic affairs would be present, although the dark wizard would be refused an advocate for reasons of state security and until all points Dieter Weigold had with him were clarified. German's constitution and laws made no difference between suspect criminals, were they muggles or wizards. The paragraphes were only subject  to a somehow broader interpretation, when an affair turned out to be too deeply rooted in the world of magic!

Petter Pettigrew untied the roll of parchment from the out-stretched leg of the falcon. He tried to make slow and careful movements, since they had a nasty habit to pick when they felt threatened or bullied by an addressee. He had never liked Lucius Malfoy's tendency to employ fashionable birds of prey instead of predictable and accommodating owls.

The falcon threw the small, bald man a mean look. He smelled his fear literally and an urgent desire to strike a weakling rose within. But he was carefully trained and by now used to the creature that would relieve him from his missive. Since his master had taken him to the continent, he had shuttled half a dozen times between the place were they stayed at the border of that broad river to the weather-beaten island far North from his place of birth. As soon as Wormtail placed  a small plate with minced meat in front of the bird, Malfoy's messenger ignored the creature and dug in. He had made his way in record time and felt weak with hunger, since the urgency of the mail would not allow for any stop over to hunt mice.

,Wormtail!' A dangerous voice thundered from upstairs through the empty rooms of the manor.

,Can't you even handle a bird? Bring it up! Lucifer's balls, bring me the message from Lucius instantly.'

Since the bastard Snape had managed to reverse the effects of the rite at the graveyard, the Dark Lord felt so much re-vigoured and rejuvenate that he ceaselessly howled and barked at Peter to speed up and do things quicker. Voldemort not only looked half his age by now, he obviously felt so, too. 

The rat-like, little Death Eater cursed silently and picked up his robes to jog upstairs. He had been terribly upset, when he had seen that greasy, old git leave the master's study. His long strides and proud bearing explained without words, that the Dark Lord had been so satisfied that he had refrained himself from reminding Snape of his loyalties. Even on the strongest of men the Cruciatus Curse showed its signs. 

Peter had by now seen it so often, that he could determine from the way a Death Eater left Voldemort's office, how long his master had maintained the curse on the man. He had also made quantities of experiences himself, although he had to admit that he never left the office on his two feet.......he'd made it a habit to crawl on all fours!

  


When Voldemort turned around from the window that overlooked the sea and the spectacular coastline of the island, Pettigrew bent instantly as deep as he could stretching Malfoy's message out to his master. It was always prudent to avoid the Dark Lord's eyes. If ever the master would use his legendary mind-reading skills upon him that very moment,  Peter knew that he would be in for a  serious round  of ‚Crucio'; not only did he  literally curse  Snape and his  craft with potions.  He also  resented strongly the draught's positive effects on Lord Voldemort.

'Well,' the dark one sniggered maliciously.

'Since we can finally employ our financial resources,  since dear Lucius has accomplished his task with competence and cunning, I think  it is time to invite  several sympathisers of my cause for a brainstorming.'

He  threw the bent and shivering Wormtail a spiteful glance. Nevertheless Voldemort's habitually cutting voice was accomodating,when he addressed the small, balding wizard. Ever since Peter had come to  him in order to betray two of his best childhood friends and thus forfeit their lives, the Dark Lord had  held a huge amount of  spite for the man; neither his devote behaviour, nor  his ever-bending spine  were for  real.  

Pettigrew was a diehard opportunist, who had already proven once that he was  willing to sell whatever conviction he held.  Besides it had never been clear to Voldemort what had triggered the  rat off to betray his friends! For all the times he had penetrated his mind, he had found no true reason worthy of a large-scale betrayal and a changing of sides. 

All he had seen was Pettigrew's desire, to be on the side  of the victors………and thirteen years ago, just before he extinguished the Poters, all signs had been for a victory of Voldemort. 

He had been able to pervert large parts of the ruling class of wizarding  England with promises of power for the purebloods and an extermination  of muggle-borns and half-breds from positions of influence  and dominance.  He had attracted many lesser wizards his ideology  of pureblood superiority, too giving them a  perspective to recover from the ashes of the established society he was to destroy economic crumbs and here and there a bit of a neighbour's property and possession, when the neighbour  had a profile that would not fit into his new world  of the future. He  had handled  all the rest of those, who tended to  his cause with promises of terror and death, if ever they should  dare to throw in their lot with the unworthy, the blood-traitors and the muggle-borns.  It had worked out well to a  certain point. The Dark Mark  had been eating up England's wizarding world like  a slow, but ever growing cancer.

But the Dark Lord had always been aware, that no matter how many he  captured  by pride, fear or  sheer lust, their would  always be a remainder of resistance against  his ideology even within old and influential pureblood  families, since allowing Voldemort's  ascension to power meant  for them a loss  of their  very own influence and standing and a submission to his exigencies and orders. And the very moment he had  been destroyed by a toddler of two years, he was  left with the reality that an empire built upon pride, fear and lust crumbles within the second, as  soon as the incarnation of  these factors disappears.

Now his new approach in order to destroy those who had been soiling the heritage of Salazar Slytherin over  almost one thousand years was different. And with this  approach, he  could not but ask himself what was in there for Pettigrew  and why the rat-man stayed on although it was more then obvious that he  would never live long enough to see the final result. Voldemort had understood that a process  of slow evolution  over several generations was the only answer to his plan. He himself was immortal, so for him time was no  factor any more. The better  men of his inner circle had heirs to their names and ranks that would take the  places of their fathers when thei were gone  and in order to perpetrate the  ideology, they themselves would procreate and raise  in the true religion those  who would follow their footsteps. But this Wormtail who by force of  betrayal and weakness had sneaked  into the inner  circle had no progeny to take over!  So for whom did he do what he was  doing actually? Peter had no  future!

Voldemort dismissed the  useless musings about the useless creature by his side. He would cut this problem of Pettigrew's true motivation to hang on short by disposing of a potential source of danger and treachery as soon as he was independent of his support on this godforsaken, stormridden island. With the money from Malfoy's  clever raid  on the old bank accounts he could finally move on to decent headquarters in a well-protected environment and since precious little Severus' potion had improved his  appearance already to a  point, where  he would be able  to  walk the streets in broad daylight, without being recognized  for who he had been in the late seventies and early eighties,  he considered the centre of England's Wizarding World London also as a centre for his new and more subtle  activities.

'Peter,' he addressed Wormtail smoothly. 'You may now dispose and take a rest. I will not need your assistance for the rest of  the day.'

The Dark One had other projects. He would sit down and draft the instructions for the next step  of  Malfoy's mission. Lucius, a man of wealth, power and influence and who was relatively familiar with the  ways of  the muggles  could without raising suspicion acquire an  adapted location in muggle London. From this base, he would build an economic outlet, similar to the one  Tom M.Riddle had in the seventies  and eighties and that would allow for employing officially people he could use for his  projects. He'd  need  a new identity, too. Lucius for the muggle world had chosen this successful but elusive stock  exchange trader Robert G.Bell and it has worked marvellously well. Voldemort himself thought more  about some fake foreign identity that would justify the sudden appearing of a rich businessman in London. With the  European Community flourishing and trade barriers and borders crumbling, he had been informed that Eastern European and  Russian money had entered the European Economic Area at high speed in order to benefit  from the development  of a  unified economic space that was as large as the United  States but much more densely populated.  He smiled  for an instant. Since Snape  had already acquired  the new task of recruiting outside  Slytherin populace for  the benefits of his cause  and followers, he'd send Severus as  soon as  possible in quest of some coherent Eastern European identity. Apart Malfoy, Severus was  the best travelled of his men of confidence who also had a brain and Voldemort still remembered vaguely from the days of old, that his Potions Master spoke nice Russian and another Slavonic language. He had had that spleen to always converse with that blasted traitor Karkaroff in his  Russian mother tongue.

The Dark Lord dipped his quill into  the ink bottle  and placed his signature under the letter for Malfoy. Then he withdrew another sheet of parchment from the wooden box on his working table and addressed it to Walden McNair. The Lestranges had been liberated from Askaban successfully and were recovering from the physical strains of their detention. As to a full mental recovery, this question lay still wide open before the medical team on the small island   in the North Atlantic, where they tended to his most faithful followers, but  their seemed to be hope. The Dementors on the prison island were sated  for the moment  with  a choice of tasty, happy little  souls  and before rushing ahead and blowing the card house of the British Ministry of Magic having a hold and impact upon these creatures of  the dark, Voldemort wanted rather to wait for the outcome of Cornelius Fudge's operation with his new North-African ally. 

The showdown of the Dementor in Southwark had given a good  result, although not the result  desired by Fudge: Nourredine Ben Kad'r  had been highly impressed  with  the usefulness of  a dementor instead  of going to pieces from fear.  Nevertheless this proved to Voldemort the rightfulness of chosing to  associate with the Algerian dervish; a wizard with no scruples, ruthless and cruel, hardened to bloodshed and  outrageous acts of  terror against whoever would be designed  as a target: muggles and wizards alike, the innocent and the guilty.

With a small organisation which due to his thirteen years of absence was deprived of any relevant striking force, the Dark Lord intended to  substitute the Islamic  terrorists for a soldiery of  his own. He was skilled and used to  operate in secrecy and he very  well understood the benefits of employing  terror without being taken for the source of  it. He knew that at this  moment he was not strong enough to step into the broad  daylight and  already Harry Potter's survival of his  ressurection on the graveyard  where his despised muggle  father laid buried had blown a  serious shock to the surprise. But with Fudge downplaying Dumbledore's attempts to drag Voldemort's resurrection back into the broad daylight and Snape inside Hogwarts and by the very side of that dangerous fool Albus he believed that the danger could still be contained from within.

He  had ordered Snape during their  last meeting under  four eyes to  keep as close  to  Dumbledore as possible. He had impressed upon his once  and again spymaster to  maintain a low profile and to avoid whatsoever action that could  bring him under suspicion from his employer. Severus had assured Voldemort, that Dumbledore trusted him. This  trust of the Headmaster  had become even stronger since Dumbledore had  been aware of  Snape's actions against Quirell, when Potter was in his first year at Hogwarts  and the fact, that two years later, when Sirius Black escaped  from  Askaban, Severus had obviously not known about Peter Pettigrew's treason, but stubbornly persecuted the man, who  had  been blamed with the act. And since  Alastor Moody himself had vouched his liberation from Askaban and was the founding father of the lore that Snape –although he  himself had never ever pretended that this was right -  had been acting under a strong and unbreakable 'Imperio' whilst a Death Eater, Dumbledore himself had accepted this analysis  of the  former Head of the Unspeakables as truth.

While Lucius Malfoy had  been overstepping the line for  the last thirteen years, making it publicly clear that he was still and adept of the Darker  Arts, Severus had even regularly applied for  the position of Defence against the Dark Arts job at Hogwarts in order to prove to Dumbledore that he had nothing in mind with forbidden  wizardry, but was even willing to  teach children how to act against it.

The Dark Lord had felt obliged to ask Severus, why the  old but cunning fool Dumbledore refused him the job instead  of jumping onto a prime occasion to show  to the  world  that he was able to reform the  misled and disturbed successfully. But all Snape could explain was the blatant difficulty to recruit a competent Potions Master in order to replace him. 

'Indeed,' Voldemort thought 'Competent Potions Masters are rarer then brash, courageous and wandwaving fools who throw themselves in the way of raging banshees and upset mountain trolls. I have even to share mine with Albus……..'

On this reflection  he  concluded his missive for McNair whom he wanted  to be off to activate sources  and informers, who would be  able to give hints about Karkaroff. He had sworn his inner  circle that the traitor who had run off would be punished and in order to show them all that he still meant exactly what he said, he needed Igor. He needed Igor alive and kicking and brought to him in order to show the bunch what a traitor's dead still was in his organisation: A slow, bloody and excruciatingly painful affair! 

The 'Crucios' after his resurrection had been simple reminders to slippery souls. The showdown against Severus had been a test to see, if the man he believed the most capable and ruthless inside his organisation had  been mellowed down by thirteen years of inactivity. Karkaroff would be a display of power! 


	51. Shadows in the Dark

Chapter 50   

Alastor Moody took one of the 9mm Heckler&Koch MP 5 sub-machine guns and eyed it suspiciously. As if the pet weapon of the French elite commando units – Made in Germany -  could bite,  he placed  it back on the  working table of the weapons master.

The  'Adjudant–Chef' Delcore, a highly experienced  NCO, whose ranges and ranges of ribbons indicated a long military experience and quantities of  campaigns smiled almost invisibly for his strange visitor, before he took another sub-machine gun and held it out to Moody. 

'You may like to give this Ingram MAC-10 in calibre 45 ACP a try, Sir! It is easier to use then the  HK and closer to those pistols we have been  toying  around with  already…' He  suggested. 

The one-eyed, one-legged wizard had been quite keen on testing out  some other equipment of the Service Action during the last few hours they had spent together and after  initial restraint considering the strong recoil the commandos'  Glock 9mm would produce, Moody had managed  some nice groups of five on a target in their shooting range that Delcore had fixed at 10 m. Habitually his 'boys'  would train on a 25 m range but  since the auror  and former Head of the Unspeakables had never held a firearm before, the shorter distance was already an achievement.  

They were killing time, waiting for the go from London-Southwark. They were also waiting for the arrival of the strangest and most curious add-on to  this operation  ………a fifteen-years old boy with a  strange scar on his forehead and a strange skill  to substitute highly sophisticate electronic tracking devices with the power of his mind. 

This was at least what Delcore had understood from the explanations of one  of his magic comrades who would take the 28 minutes helicopter trip to the other side of 'La Manche'.

Moody took the Ingram and screened it with his non-magic eye: It was indeed  light and fairly small and even the so-called silencer that would  capture the noise of the ammunition did not seem to cumbersome for  the bearer. It was  nevertheless harder to handle then a wand and a good choice of spells, hexes and  curses.

'No thanks! I believe that for today a fireleg was already quite a thing. I may not cope with a submarine gun,  Chef! This one is for  whom, by the way?'  Moody  asked Delcore.

'Le Colonel Genty has requested the Ingram just in case. He is obliged to take a firearm for reasons of security, but as far as I understood him, he does not intent to employ it against his target.'  The 'Adjudant-Chef smiled. He refrained from correcting Alastor into firearm and sub-machine gun, unwilling to hurt a magic 'colleagues' pride with tiny nagging and nitbits about terminology.

Alastor gave an approving nod. Indeed the French colonel who had the task to take out the dervish was better off  with classic magic duelling then with a theoretical blast of ……..1000 bullets per minute in full automatic mood…….;whatever this may be. 

From what the old auror had understood, Ben Kad'r would resemble a Swiss  Emmental cheese if Genty should be forced  to employ traditional methods to convince the bastard to give up. 

Delcore had been sworn to secrecy a quarter of a century ago, when he  had entered 'Commando Hubert' as a  young private and the presence of magic folks in his unit was no  novelty for him, since they had  recruited one themselves almost by accident seventeen years earlier. He was used to be patient with other magic add-ons that since had entered his 'family'. Habitually they were frightened of firearms first, although most of them jumped  with parachutes without second  thought. That must come from their strange habit of riding brooms he  believed. 

Moody returned the Ingram and let his non-magic eye wander over the rest of the equipment that Delcore  had been preparing for  the whole morning, checking each and every piece for shortfalls, inconveniencies, mechanical problems or  defects. 

Albus had left together with Claude  Fillon in a muggle car in order to pick up Harry at Lorient. The 'Poseidon', a small but  well-equipped warship that  belonged to the French 'Commandement des Operations Speciales' was already on its way to England. Severus,  Damien Tremayne, Yvan Denez-Pregent, Alain  Genty and two other members of the 'Service Action' sat over a plan of the Southwark storage  facility and a scheme of the canalisations that led from the building to the Themse river since the morning hours in order to memorize their respective ways in. 

This scheme had been provided courtesy the British muggle authorities  twenty-four hours ago, when a triumphant Claude  Fillon returned from London with permission  to  flight over British territory with helicopter in order to drop his team  of six adjacent to their target in the Southwark docklands. 

Claude's  argument on Ben Kad'r being involved  in the killing of  French citizens and planning another strike against French lifes  and French interests from his UK base must have been good enough to trigger a co-operative spirit in the British muggle law enforcement and intelligence community.    

Now all  they could do was to  wait patiently…….wait patiently until a secure communication with Southwark would wake them up and start to transmit moving images of a storage facility with ten fanatic Islamist half-wits and their dervish master securely asleep in their cots. As to the bottle ghost…….well,  ghosts did not need rest. But it could  not be helped, they were willing to take the risk  that the dshijnij would sound the  alarm  bell as soon as the French appeared from the canalisation inside the  building. 

All they could hope for was that Damien Tremayne  and his decade-long experience with the magic world of  the Middle  East were enough to catch the little nuisance immediately before he could really cry havoc.

Moody took gratefully a cold drink from the hands of the 'Adjudant-Chef' who seemed satisfied with his check of equipment. 

'You should not  worry too  much, Sir!' The NCO said in a low voice, although the two were alone in the hangar by the heliport.  

Outside  a Puma transport helicopter, which belonged to the second Air Force  unit assigned to the COS - the 'Escadrille Des Helicopteres Speciaux(EHS)' – and that had been  lend out to 'Service Action' for the occasion together with two highly  experienced pilots who  had a long-standing reputation for black ops and dangerous Combat Search and Rescue/ CSAR) missions in support of French military forces performed  noisy  engine  tests.

Moody let his magic eye dance in the socket. Not worrying! How could he? He had  been too often in charge of similar missions;  not with pelicopters,  diving  equipment and sub-marine guns of  muggle conception….. but  there was no  difference between sending out a team of aurors or sending out  a teams of commandos who happened to be wizards: In the end it was dangerous for  the men, who went into a  fight and unpredictable for those who  stayed behind in order to observe or to control where possible.

'I wish we were over with it and your team and Snape were back again alive and kicking!' Moody sizzled between clenched teeth. Fillon was in charge tonight, but Alastor felt nevertheless somewhat responsible for Severus whom he had dragged into the game fifteen years ago in a fit of despair. Dumbledore had mentioned casually that his  curious and  slightly girlish, longhaired and  harp-playing French godson had  signed up with the Foreign Intelligence Service of his  native country. And Alastor who had been a secret witness to a most awkward power-game between a couple of hormone-loaded irresponsible  dunderheads some years earlier on the school grounds of Hogwarts could not but wonder how it came that a youngster who had not been able  to stand his ground against two fellow-youngsters to the point that he ended up upside down in the air and with his underpants exposed to the  world by the lake side. The  ridicule of  the whole school should suddenly find himself inside an organisation  that recruited only from a select few of soldiers who themselves already belonged to very selective elite units?

Dumbledore then had smilingly conceded to explain and while cautioning Moody to never judge a book by its cover had told the Head of the Unspeakables how  he himself had to forbid a future druid, formed  at Avalon and instructed in very sophisticate and dangerous  ways  of magic to defend himself against  his more normal and Hogwarts-trained schoolmates, just in order to prevent Severus from loosing his temper and causing damage beyond repair………for  a prank.

'Snape?' The Chef asked curiously. Although he knew that the Capitaine de Vaisseau de la Bédoyere was on a long-term assignment over in the UK, he  had  never heard the name, Severus used  as his cover.

'Sev!' Alastor corrected himself.

'The Captaine  will do fine, Sir!' Delcore replied.

'He's always been athough one, him and LTC Tremayne……..You know, when we got these two a  long time ago, we had  no clue what they were hiding from us and since both had landed  here with a 'Form B 219' and their curious looks, we found  it funny to put them together in the same room…….'

'Form  B 219?' Moody enquired intrigued.

A soft, silky voice replied amused at the place of the Chef 'A discharge to cut our hair for reasons of religion, Alastor! Since  France drafts Jewish conscripts, Muslim conscripts, Orthodox conscripts and from time to time even a druid or  two…….the République can force  neither to cut hair or beard even when they end  up in the Armed Forces and in strange units!'

Moody spun around in surprise, drawing his wand in the movement  and almost dropping his soft drink. Since he'd understood that the tightly closed metal containers fell on hazard from a distributer, he'd conceded that noone would poison him with a can and started to enjoy the  stuff. His habitual hip flask was even left in his room on the base…..

'Don't you do this again, you nasty child!' He sizzled at Severus, as soon as he recognized the familiar eagle's beak and black ponytail. The young one had taken him utterly by surprise appearing behind without noise.

'Especially YOU should know, that I still have reflexes and a quick wand!' Moody made an awkward excuse, tugging his wand back  up his sleeve.

Severus gave a small sigh. Away from underage pranksters, on his home base and  surrounded by trusted comrades-in-arms, securely hidden inside  a kaki fatigue and habitually addressed by either his first  name or his  rank, he was not in a highly aggressive mood…….not even with the expectation of dropping from a Puma transport helicopter into the Themse in the middle  of the night  in order to crawl  through a canalisation into a storage facility full  of fairly unbalanced fanatics, a dervish and a djhinnij. 

For once he was not facing a surprise, just  a classic mission and  this caused  -as strange at  it may have seemed to an outside observer – an inhabitual good  mood in a habitually tense and highly suspicious  man. It had been ages since he had been allowed on a mission with someone to cover his  back!

'I thought, you would care  for a snack and  Claude's explanations as to tonight's planned  'event'!' Severus managed a hint of sarcasm in order to keep  up appearances. 'They just arrived with Harry.'

Then he threw a glance  at Delcore and the equipment 'Everything o.k., Chef?'

The NCO nodded and padded Moody on the shoulder, leading him out of the hangar into a nicely restaured XVIII. century building that served as canteen, guests' quarters and administration. The 'Commandement des Operations Speciales had inherited the old manor with the Quérelen peninsula shortly after their transfer from the French island Corsica in the Méditerranean in the 1960ies. Since the hardly mustered more then 80 men and their back-office at a time, they had decided to keep it for the sake of  its beautiful look. 

When they arrived in what was called  the canteen but due to its small size and restricted clientele resembled more a  countryside restaurant, young Potter, Dumbledore, Father Yannick and Claude were already seated on a large balcony covered in dark red natural stones together with the five other men, who'd participate in the operation against Ben Kad'r and his grouping. 

The NCO who was in charge of the kitchens and catering always made it  a point of honour to do especially well for those  who had  to go and risk their necks. There was  a  certain irony in the gesture, but none had  ever complained…….although some would call it the 'Last Meal' behind his back.  He showed his kitchen aid off  with wine and  water.  

Harry who seemed slightly pale and awed by the strange environment,  he'd  found  himself dropped in after a  perfectly normal and pleasant sejourn at Lorient and the Interceltic Festival  hardly 45  minutes ago swallowed, when  the private presented him with either red wine or water. He reached for a glass of alcohol, hoping that this would soothe his nerves a little bit. Now that the very moment to try and test his magic link with Severus had come, he felt he lost courage to go through  with it. Small flashes of what he had dropped unknowingly into his Pensiève the last time came to his mind and an inner voice told  him, that this time could be even worse.

From the corner of  his eye, the boy observed Sev and his Fellowship of the Ponytail. They seemed completely impassive to the prospects of the night, although all had refused the wine and stuck to water. Damien, Snape's 'twin' seemed much more interested in the groups he had seen at Lorient then into what was to come.  After telling Harry that he habitually went to Lorient, when he was  not bound to other duties every year,  he tried to drag the boy into a discussion on musical preferences. Severus – while carefully avoiding eye  contact with Harry – teased him nevertheless  from under his forkfuls of  salad. The two newcomers to  the fellowship – the boy had by now learned that neither was magic and both belonged to Snape's old unit Hubert and were non-commissioned officers with a  very long experience in what they called  'black ops' discussed lively with Alastor Moody and their  colleague Delcore, the weapons master of Quérelen about the merits of  some muggle stuff, Moody must have been toying around  with for a  while, when Fillon and Dumbledore  had picked  him up and the Headmaster himself seemed extremely content to discuss the merits of Paracelsian Alchimy over Hermetic Alchimy with his soon-to-be DADA teacher, Father Le Floa'ch.

Harry had the strange feeling that besides him the only one who was not in his shoes tonight was General Fillon: He starred at his men with blank eyes and returned his food untouched to  the kitchens. Throughout the diner Severus muggle boss did not say one single word. The more the time advanced  the paler Fillon seemed  to grow. The boy had the feeling to participate in a strange dramaturgy with the six most concerned by what would come fooling the other six  into  the believe they'd  get comedy not tragedy and only one…….Fillon…….unwilling to believe their lie.

This situation changed the very moment, when all had finished their coffee and the General finally broke his silence.  

'Gentlemen!' He threw a short glance at his soldiers.

All six stood up without a word, acknowledged their superiors 'order' with a small nod and left unceremoniously. The weapons master of Quérelen followed them without the nod and at an easier  pace.  When Fillon found himself with only Harry, Dumbledore, Moody and Father Yannick, he  became  suddenly more animate then during the diner.

He gave the boy an awkward little smile 'You are still determined to run this trial  in order  to find  out if your link holds even without Voldemort himself being present?'

Harry nodded. He had  no clue what to expect tonight, but it 'felt' right to him to try. 

'Severus is  still not happy with this, isn't he?' The boy questioned Fillon and Dumbledore. 

He had not had an occasion to tackle the issue of the obvious switching off of their link hardly seventy-two hours ago with the one most concerned, but Snape  -against all his habits- had been avoiding eye contact…..the very person that had stared him down for four years at school and  who even at Montmuran and without his war personae around always looked straight into peoples eyes, had spent the whole diner observing his plate or the wall behind Harry, when he could not avoid to look up.

'Harry, I am basically not  interested if one of my officers is particularly happy about something that may be useful in order to keep him  out of  harms way………..or to find out  why he had come into harms way should he ever no longer be able to report this himself!' Fillon's eyes had suddenly turned very cold. 

So this was  the true reason why the muggle general had  forced the balloting on the last day of the 'gorseed'. He was pretty much aware that something could happen one day to their single source inside the Inner Circle of  the Dark Lord and he wanted to make sure  that at least for the life  of  one of his officers  he'd get back the intelligence he had been after the very moment  of his……….

Harry gave a small sigh. Obviously the only difference between these bunch of  old men and Voldemort was, that they did not receive their men  with a  Cruciatus Curse in order to make sure  that they'd  obey. They were  outwardly more polite and more considerate and perhaps less incline  to spoil lives for nothing, but they were  as  ruthless and as  cold-blooded as the Dark Lord when it came to  accieve their  aims. He wondered  if Father Yannick, the Benedictine and former soldier had similar thoughts that very moment.   He felt a slight disappointment with  Headmaster Dumbledore, too. Since  he  had come to Hogwarts he had always thought  the old wizard to be a pure manifestation of the light, unable to do something wrong  and always a protector  of those under his  care. But this did not seem the case: He had allowed someone of whom he  knew that he did not merit it into Askaban, he had send the same person back to Voldemort although he had no idea if  or if  not Severus would survive such an encounter and tonight he was only interested in testing a fool-proof means to retrieve even the last bit of information from…….beyond the grave, if ever……….

Yannick Le Floa'ch had silently observed  the boy. He had a curious feeling that Harry was fighting an inner struggle between what was easy and what was right. He was a  fifteen years  old whom they confronted with something that even he –at fourty years of age and after a long military career of his own- was not always able to understand or admit. Perhaps it was neither up to Fillon, nor to Moody and Dumbledore to explain to Harry the other side of the medal. Perhaps he would not take it from them, since they gave him a strange display of ruthlessness and cold blood, although none  of these three took the situation any easier  then the boy himself. Claude was harbouring his bastard poker-face, because he was shit frightened, that one of his  'kids' could come into harms way or not return; Albus and Alastor felt about the same but did not know how to put this into understandable  words. He was  a  bit  the outsider, the one closest to tonight's 'receiving end'.  Harry would probably believe him and simply accept that what was going on where rules of a game accepted  by all  sides  involved.

'Harry,' Yannick called out gently to the obviously angry boy.

When  he  felt, he had the young man's attention he stood up and motioned  Potter to follow him out of the room and to another place, were explanations would be easier.

Claude  Fillon gave Dumbledore and Moody  a smile. 'Old fools we are, aren't we?' 

'That is what happens, when you grow  too much used to lie in order to protect the truth.' Dumbledore replied.

In the meantime, Father Yannick and a silent and thoughtful Harry had reached the hangar and the waiting Puma transport helicopter outside. The Benedictine  put his arm around the boy's shoulder, leading him away from the  engine and into the premise. 

Harry's six table companions of half an hour ago had already  skipped their fatigues for  very peculiar black and dark grey diving combinations that were hardly visible against the night or against grey concrete walls. They were retrieving their sub-machine  guns from the weapons master, before choosing other stuff from a table Harry could not see from his place  in the hangar. The 'stuff' disappeared alongside with a curious container Damien  Tremayne's partner Yvan Pregent fixed to his diving belt and a  range of egg-shaped hand grenades, Snape and his two team mates  dispatched between themselves. 

'You see, Harry! They do not mind to go. That's what they have been trained  for and they know exactly what to expect tonight.' He explained in a low voice.

'And they know that the General, Mr.Moody and Professor Dumbledore care a shit?' The boy asked aggressively, shaking off Yannick's hand.

'Harry, Fillon, Dumbledore and Moody do care! Nevertheless it cannot be helped, they have to go, because this is what they are paid for. That's their job! And neither the General nor Mr.Moody nor Professor  Dumbledore can help them with their job. They have to do it alone………when you stand an exam at school, you have also to do it alone. This does not mean your teachers do not care  about the outcome. They've been struggling for the whole school term to teach you all you have to know in order to pass. It is the same for Damien, Yvan, Alain and Sev. They have been taught to do this kind of  things and they will do their best, not to fail their 'exam'!'

'Only that if I mess  up a paper, I mess up a paper and nothing else!' Harry replied a bit more complacent. He had understood Yannick's message and deep inside he knew, that the Benedictine was right. 

'And when YOU go single-handedly on  the pursuit of  the Philosopher's Stone?' Yannick tackled  him. Dumbledore  had told the whole story and the Benedictine felt, that this  little provocation would  give Harry the right indications for what he  might see this night if his link with Severus worked indeed.

'Well, first  I was not alone…….we were three and then…….we were convinced that  it was the  right thing to do and  that we would cope…..' A hint  of  a smile crossed Harry's face. It had been complete madness at eleven years of age to be confident to struggle down a supposed dark wizard with mischief in mind who was three times their age and trained in things magic. And nevertheless they had  tried …….he had tried.

'I think I understand what you try to tell me, Father Yannick!' Harry continued

'They  all  try to do what they believe is right and each of them does simply what he knows best. I still remember the times, when Claude went with us……that was about the time, when you  were born Harry… and Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody can  tell you one  day and if they are in the right mood how they did many a  foolish thing during  the times of Grindlewald. You  must not judge the old  men, because they sit there and put on their poker  faces.  They have all been in situations like  tonight and  in situations similar to  the one  you were forced to observe in your  Pensiève some time  ago,  too …….'

'Yannick, why don't they want me to try then? Damien, Severus and  Yvan. And why do you, the General and Alain have no objections?'

The Benedictine placed his hand back on Harry's shoulder and  led  him over to the  group of dark shadows on the other side of the hangar.

'As for me, I can give you a honest reply. I believe that if ever something  should happen, it should at least not be a useless sacrifice. Even  if your link will not allow any of us to help Sev, when he's alone in front of Voldemort…….if we understand the reason why he failed or why we lost him, we might employ  this knowledge in order  to replace  him or to  get our own hands upon that nasty creature and snatch a small piece of victory from a defeat! I have the feeling that  this is also Claude's  and Alain's opinion. As to the other three,  who seem less enchanted with having you  in this 'game', you must ask them yourself Harry!'

Ask  them himself? Indeed, the only way to get a reply was  to ask at least Severus! 

Outside the engine of  the helicopter started and a harsh blast of wind from the rotor blades made  the metal of the hangar squeal and whine for an instant. Harry stiffened his back and took a deep breath before tugging the black sleeve of a diving combination.

'


	52. Black Ops

Chapter 51   Black Ops 

The Puma helicopter remained stationary  at about ten meters  over the waters. Six silent, dark shadows dropped from the carrier into the cool waters of  the Thames River. Their close oxygen circuits did not send treacherous air bubbles to the  surface, while they moved on silently for  the last three thousand  meters. The observation team in Southwark  had recommended the long and  straining underwater approach in order not to raise suspicion from either the target or any other docklands dweller. Helicopters were not a common feature within the harbour facilities and apart some river police patrol boats no traffic  was  permitted by the British authorities during the night hours. 

As soon as they reached the two large canalisations that connected  the storage facility underground  with the Thames, the six silent shadows, still hindered by their palms and respiratory systems crawled into the concrete tubes. Only when they were far enough inside  to feel completely secure, they took off their diving gear  and replaced the masks with night-vision goggles each of them had stored in a waterproof bag at his belt. 

Freed from cumbersome 75 cm long palms, they forced their way through smelly used waters with cat-size rats rushing away from the nightly intruders on a  sidewalk habitually used by the Greater London Canalisation Maintenance. 

Each of the six kept his breathing down, since the used waters smelled strongly.  It took them ten minutes to walk through the canalisation until they reached  a 45% angular elbow with an iron ladder.  Although  it was  impossible that their targets  could hear them in  the underground, none of the six men spoke. They communicated by sign language. 

Damien Tremayne auctioned  his intercom with Quérelen. A simple pressure of  his thumb against the sensible  earphone told  General Fillon and the Ops Centre that they were on target. In the darkness  of the canalisation tube the small camera  fixed  on top of each man's night vision system was unable to transmit images. A  minimum of light was necessary for  the high tech device to function properly.

'Clear!' Sounded in the ears of each member of  the commando. 

Tremayne and  Denez-Pregent were the first to  climb up the iron ladder. They moved like cats. Damien pushed the  iron plate that covered the canalisation inside the storage facilities basement with his shoulder. 

'Go' The voice from the DGSE team in front of the building cleared  his entry. 

The young wizard drew his wand  with his right hand. As  soon as he  had his  feet firmly rooted on the ground, his left hand ushered the HK from behind  his back. 

'Way's free!' He whispered into the intercom. Yvan Denez-Pregent appeared by his side, wand ready and the container for the bottle ghost in his left.

'Go!'  The anonymous voice ordered the  next member of the team.

Alain Genty rushed upstairs, waiting for further indications  from  the observation team.

Damien and Yvan had  to take chances since the djhinnij  could be wherever in the storage facility. To the sophisticate listening devices the ghost did not exist, and the video cameras saw only mist. But the dervish  -Nouredine  Ben Kad'r had  the habit to  sleep on a couch inside his office and Alain had memorized the way from the canalisation to his target.

As soon as the three first arrivals had cleared  the basement silently, Capitaine de  la Bedoyère tapped his two NCOs  on the shoulder. The men climbed at  speed and secured the perimeter for their commanding officer. When Snape arrived too, the first thing he did  was to replace the iron plate carefully on their secret entrance. 

His right held out the HK instinctively, while with his left he sent a short Morse message to base. They had all arrived! 

The voice  from the observation team explained calmly  that all their targets  were firmly asleep  in their habitual places. Already during the morning session of studying the location, Severus and the two  NCOs had agreed upon a job sharing. Since Snape was a wizard and could in case  of emergency support either Genty or Tremayne and Denez-Pregent, his two non-magic companions would take upon themselves the extermination  of  six targets that habitually slept upstairs in two distinguished rooms. Although this share left Snape with four Islamists at his own discretion, he had not opposed the idea. 

Claude's orders were formal and  even though the operation had basically been approved   to weaken Voldemort, the French  Prime Minister and Patrick Delacour had agreed upon a demonstration of power against the GIA as an add-on. 

There  was no  quarter  given! Fillon had carefully instructed  his men to cause a maximum bloodshed.

The two NCOs disappeared in the dark of  the night, while Snape tugged  away his noisy HK and drew a long, sharp commando dagger from a  shed  at his right ankle. 

At this very moment he did not care about the dervish and the djhinnij. He trusted Damien, Yvan and Alain to do what they had to do and disappear into the night and straight  to the Poseidon which waited for  the 'cargo' close to the  place where the Puma had dropped  them some  thirty minutes ago. 

The  French vessel was not  to  wait  for him and  the two NCOs. They were supposed to get themselves out of  Southwark on their own, relying on the help of the British muggle authorities and a River Police vessel  that would navigate up and down in front of the facility at fixed times….if  the worst should ever happen.

He took a turn to the left, making his way to a small cot hidden behind some merchandise. The man who  had the  habit of sleeping  there was to be his first target. Severus had studied each and every of the  half-wits he was to  dispose off with care and N° 1 behind the merchandise  seemed to be the most Crabbe-and-Goyle like of them all. 

His night vision system showed him a metal frame on  which a meatball snored peacefully. The target had a  naked, hairy foot tugged  over a light blanket. A tuff of  black hair contrasted an ugly yellow and red pillow. Before the man realized what had happened to him, a black-gaunted hand clutched mercilessly over his mouth and nose  and the sharp stinging pain  of a metal object that penetrated through a solid layer of fat right into his heart from underneath his left armpit had ended his life on earth. 

Severus maintained  his gaunted  hand  until he felt that the target would never breath again…..suffocated by a  stream of blood in his lungs. He gave a small sigh before continuing his quest. 

They'd take care of the targets as soon as Alain, Yvan and Damien were out. A simple puncture between the third and fourth rib  was not 'maximum bloodshed' but  the work of  a sophisticate specialist! 

The next two targets were somewhere to the right. He did not feel anything after this perfect kill. He had kille dmore  then once  in his seventeen years  of service! One pawn was off the chessboard. 

The two others were  trickier, since he had to confront a metal door before the kill. He tugged his dagger away and fumbled a tiny endoscope  from the side  pocket of his diving gear. The endoscope's head was small enough to slip under the door and into the room. Within a second, the device's  alimentation was connected with a computer screen the size of a pack of cigarettes fixed to his left forearm. Snape pushed the 'Enter' button before auctioning his intercom device.

'Clear!' An unfamiliar voice replied to his request. His night googles showed him two cots, one to  the left and one to the  right against bare concrete walls.

Carefully he tested the handle of the door. It was polite enough  not to squeal, but he nevertheless muttered 'Alomohora' and made an opening movement with his left hand. The metal door obediently swung open and Severus  sneaked into  the dark room like a shadow. 

The two men slept indeed soundly. One snored loudly, while the other gave only regular breathing.  The snoring Islamist would  go last. His own noise would prevent him from hearing the death struggle of  his companion. 

The merciless, unfeeling dark shadow hung for the  quarter of a  second over the  cot  before two black gaunted fists hit with terrible  precision the temples of  their sleeping victim. 

The  only  reaction from the condemned creature was  a slight 'ouff'. Snape retrieved his  dagger from its shed.  With an easy,  casual movement he slit the unconscious Islamist's throat from his  left ear to his right ear; Then he  turned the dying man around to allow his lifeblood to spill in a dark puddle on the concrete  floor.

His  right hand pressed the intercom relay in his ear twice.

The anonymous voice from the observation team stated without a hint of emotion 'Six'.

Severus gave a sigh of relief. His two NCOs had  finished business upstairs. As to Alain, Damien and Yvan he had no news but neither had he requested this intelligence and before messing around  in  other peoples' business  he would finish his own  job.

The snoring Islamist on the second cot met Allah without even realising that he had died. The strong arm that had enveloped  his neck, while a gaunted hand prevented him  from breathing or crying was enough to break a human neck within the second.

Severus had still one  target left to him. The last would be  the most difficult; He  was the man he  had  identified on the transmissions  from the observation  team  as the brightest and most alert and he slept in an individual room on the far end of the storage facility, close to an exit that led right into a lively street of Southwark, were night-time was business-time! The target had also a habit to sleep with an arm under his  pillow.

A soft noise reached  the  young druid's ear. He was so absorbed in his dealings that he could not make out  if it was a curse or a  counter-curse but he had the feeling that the dervish was not one willing to be taken easily. 

The voice must have been Alain, he comforted  himself. Unfortunately his comrade was condemned to duel that bastard  down instead of sending him to the realm of the death with an Aveda Kedavra. 

Another soft noise disturbed Snape's concentration and effort  to find  his way  around ranges and ranges  of  multicolour fabric and wooden trunks  with customs  markings in black and  yellow.

'Crucio' the same well-known voice barked through the dark.

'Finally!' Severus' second  self stated in a detached manner. What use to put on gloves and avoid  the Unforgivables for the sake of a  legislation  that hardly ever cared about methods employed during a black operation. 

'Crucio!' The familiar voice repeated with more dexterity, while a shrill cry of pain pierced the dark of the storage facility and the summer  night. 

Snape automatically accelerated his pace  into a jog. Even the dumbest and most sleepy half-wit could not overhear such a desperate noise. 

He pulled his  HK from behind his back unarming the sub-machine  gun in the same movement. When the door burst open in  front  of him, he did not even think  twice before pulling the trigger and  emptying his charger in full automatic mood into a black shadow. The shadow went down to his knees with a strange guttural noise, emptying  his guts onto the barren floor and suffocating on his own blood. 

Severus did  not  even care to throw a look on his victim. His  left foot hit automatically the dark metallic thing the lifeless hand had been brandishing only instants earlier. The target's own firearm was out of  reach if  ever the man was  not completely dead by  now. He auctioned his intercom mechanically  four times  and sprinted off into the direction of the desperate cry.

Sweat was dropping from his front, creeping under  the night vision goggles and making his eyes burn,  but he ignored the irritation and just kept his  direction. While still moving he pushed the HK behind his back and drew  his wand from his left sleeve. Claude had been formal about the dervish; He was  to be  brought in alive and kicking at whatever price! 

When Snape arrived  where  his ears and  instincts  had led him he  heard a comforting 'Petrificus Totalis' and 'Silencio' before his night vision  system showed him a man with oriental features whose eyes had gone completely white with pain and who was nevertheless unable to either move or cry.

Alain Genty gave him a relieved thumbs up.

'Have  to get my bastard out, before he's losing his mind under the 'Crucio'!' The young wizard whispered , while his  hand covered the intercom.

'Damien?Yvan?'  Snape  whispered back, copying the gesture of his friend.

'Piece of  cake! The bottle  ghost was a piece  of cake, but  this bastard…….'  He gave the agonizing dervish a  heartless push with his elbow 'fought like a devil! Had to 'Crucio'  him  twice….. Yours?'

Severus passed his thumb in a very obvious gesture over his own throat 'All gone! We'll be with you in a second. I only make sure  that the remainders look gory enough for the audience.'

Genty gave a broad grin 'Vingardium  Leviosa!' His wand pointed the dishevelled, body-bound dervish and ushered him towards the basement and the canalisation.

'Get your ass out of here at high speed, Sev……or you'll miss the chopper back home!' He cautioned his relieved comrade.

'Give us five minutes and we'll be downstairs too!' The other wizard  replied, tugging his wand away and turning on his heels to join the two NCOs  on the storage facility's second floor.

Father Yannick Le  Floa'ch watched the boy carefully. Harry had indeed  dared and asked the question  that obsessed him. But the one most concerned had not given the expected reply. Instead Severus  had opted for a strange and very medieval gesture: He had rolled up  the sleeve of his diver's combination, bent one knee in front  of  the child and offered Harry to touch the Dark Mark. When the boy had hesitatingly covered  the ugly scar with his small hand, Sev had put his own hand over Harry's  and  forced him with  his black pits into a long and silent eye contact.

Yannick knew that Severus was able to read a man's mind while shielding his  own from any effort of  penetration, but during the perhaps  five minutes of the strange scene, the Benedictine was convinced  that his elusive and secretive friend had allowed the boy to read  what no one  else before  had ever seen. 

Now Harry sat  with strangely unfocussed eyes in the  middle  of the abandoned hangar,  his long, skinny legs crossed Indian style and the boy was  staring holes into the walls; He had not spoken a single word, since the six dark shadows had disappeared with the Puma. He just sat there, allowing him to put two soothing hands on his shoulders and obviously expecting him to shut up. 

Harry's  breathing had been going regularly for the first thirty minutes. Then a sharp intake had startled Yannick and he  had almost lost his control and asked for  the reason why,  but before  he could  formulate the question the child was back to normal. Another five minutes had passed and the next sharp intake had almost uprooted the experienced exorcist and former  soldier, but when Harry returned back  to a slow constant breath  Yannick told himself that it was better to let things run and just make the boy feel that he was not alone in  his trial.  

The  Benedictine tried to adapt his own breathing rhythm to  Harry's. He was  fully aware that some hundred meters away Claude and Albus and Alastor were able to follow the whole operation in direct. The team had been equipped with intercoms and small nocturnal cameras which would  transmit  exactly what their eyes saw to the Ops Centre of Quérelen and the screens of the observation team in Southwark. But a long forgotten professional code  prevented Father Le Floa'ch from interfering. It had been his very  own choice  to opt for Harry and the harder part of the operation; support the boy without  knowing what was going on…..Time went bye slowly. Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours  and  the short timeframe  that separated him from his former comrades  on the other side of the sea dragged on like endless days! Suddenly the priest felt the tense muscles  of the boy relax under his hands.

'It is  over!' Harry stated. Then the boy stood up and tucked his hand unceremoniously into the icy trembling hand of his companion.

'I need the Pensiève and I show you what I have seen!'  He stated matter-of-factly.

Yannick gave a small sigh  before he dared to ask the very question 'Everything's o.k., Harry?'

The boy gave a simply nod. 

Outside a low, menacing  swish announced the  arrival  of a helicopter that lowered itself slowly on the Quérelen heliport. The strong SNECMA engines sizzled like upset wasps  through the night air. 

Harry fetched the icy hand in a hard grip and  dragged the Benedictine through the same small door six dark shadows had used a lifetime  ago to  disappear into the night.

When the angry wasp made contact with the ground, the boy let go  the hand of  the man he was  supporting. Ducking his head  instinctively under the wind of the  long  rotor blades he strode  determinedly towards a  black hole and as soon as the first dark shadow set  foot on the ground of the  French military base  he threw two  long, skinny arms  around the shadow's neck and held him in a bear hug as if he'd never ever let him go again.

Severus put his arms gently around Harry and lifted him from the ground as if he were a small child.

'It's O.K., Harry! It is over!' He whispered gently while  stepping aside to allow his fagged  and drained comrades to leave  the Puma. His black-gaunted hand pulled Harry's head closer to his shoulder. 

'That was absolutely dreadful!' Harry sobbed between two sharp  intakes of breath. The black and grey  diver's combination smelled blood, decay and stale water.

'How could you…..?' Harry wrung his lanky arms even firmer  around Severus' neck,  almost strangling the young wizard. 

'


	53. The Breaking Point

Chapter 52The Breaking Point

  
  


Dr.Dieter Weigold observed Lucius Malfoy through the blind window. The British dark wizard seemed in a trance-like state. He sat motionlessly on the ugly chair provided by the German Prison Administration and stared holes into the grey concrete wall. He also clutched his left forearm.When they had proceeded him through the habitual legal procedures for admission into preventive detention, Weigold and the medical officer had seen the Dark Mark, which inactive looked like a strange and fading tatoo. Since neither the German counterintelligence wizard nor the doctor were familiar with Voldemort's habit to brandmarl his followers like cattle, neither had commented on the sign of loyalty.

  
  


After this procedure a administrative officer had read the man his rights and informed him, that he could either request a lawyer or accept a lawyer assigned by the government in order to prepare his defence. The accusations raised against Lucius were money laundering and tax fraud.

  
  


Malfoy had been willing to decline his identity, since Dieter had made it clear that he already knew, whom he had taken in. But after these few sentences, Weigold had been confronted with stubborn silence. Nevertheless, the German counterintelligence wizard had felt a strange kind of tension in the Death Eater: Each and every time he had made the slightest move or come close, Lucius had straightened his back and thrown him a defiant, arrogant glance!

  
  


The man was expecting physical violence in retribution for his unwillingness to reply and prepared himself to receive a painful blow!

  
  


‚Please, be kind and get me a tray with coffee, milk, sugar, two cups and some edible sandwiches. I am afraid I have to take on this one differently.....' The counterintelligence wizard addressed one of the specialized prison guards who was at his disposal for this specifuc ‚client'.

  
  


The man, who had observed the strange behaviour of Malfoy through the blind window for a while and who had been witness to the ducking, difiance and clutching of his left forearm nodded aprehensively and walked away. A German wizard in trouble with the law of the republic would never ever have reacted in the way, this British Death Eater did. A German dark or criminal wizard would have insisted upon calling his lawyer and put up an arrogant face!

  
  


‚Well!' Dieter Weigold stated with a small sigh of frustration, placing the warm drinks and some food on the table in front of Lucius. 

  
  


‚This will lead us nowhere, Mr.Malfoy. You can either co-operate now, putting your trust into the laws of my country and the rights you have here and that were stated to you in detail earlier, or I will request a special permission for an interrogation with Veritasserum under Threat to State Security! Personally I'd prever a civilized conversation between two grown up wizards! You are here under an inculpation for money laundering and tax fraud, Sir. Not under an accusation for murder.......' Dieter lowered his deep voice into an inviting, silky caress.

  
  


‚......or for being a Death Eater and follower of the dark wizard known under the pseudonym Lord Voldemort!' He added in a sharper tone. 

  
  


Malfoy clutched his left forearm even more vigorously then before, bending his head deep down, almost into his lap, as if he were in pain from a demanding calling of his dark master on the other side of the sea. His heart pounded against his ribcase and small dripplings of sweat formed on his front. If ever his master would learn of his failure and his being caught by some German auror who seemed to know already too much, he'd be a dead man........he'd never ever see Narcissa and Draco again, succumbing to the maddening torture of the Dark Mark burning through his flesh into the bones of his arm somewhere in a German prison cell. Even if he'd be willing to trust the honour and correctness of this German wizard not to ‚Crucio' him into any kind of confession............nobody would be able to shield him against the wrath of his master! Voldemort had not only dark powers to call his followers via the Mark. He had also a very special brand of magic to torment them by ways of activating the scar. During the early days of his reign, he had made it a habit to do it and Lucius had experienced the torment regularly. Not even Severus strongest painkilling potions were of any assistance in a case like this, when Voldemort decided to hurt.........

  
  


Dieter Weigold shook his head and took a sip of coffee. The man was dead frightened! Not of him, not of the German authorities, not of the legal consequences of tax fraud and money laundering. This was evident! He was frightened of the British dark lord, who was hundreds and hundreds of kilometers away on the other side of the Atlantic and would not cooperate from sheer fear of this man. 

  
  


‚Why are you clutching to this tatoo that is on your arm?' Weigold asked more from curiosity and to break the silence then out of concern. 

  
  


He faintly remembered that one of the corpses from the showdown in the Black Forest some fifteen or twenty years ago had had a tatoo, too. But he could not recall if any of the other Death Eaters the hunted British wizard had killed in his last stand had similar tatoos. He did not even consider reviewing the files he still had at the Bundesamt and in his office's safe.

  
  


Lucius lifted his head for an instant, fixing Weigold with his cold and piercing bluegrey eyes. Obviously the German auror did not know. He would not tell him either. 

  
  


His head dropped back on his knees, hidding his face behind a veil of long silverblond hair. They had forced his ‚Glamour Charm' off, while proceeding him through the medical examination. The fexw modifications his taking over the personality of the dead Robert G.Bell were gone. He was at least back to normal.......apart from the grey prisoners' uniform he wore now instead of a muggle suit, trousers and shirt. Malfoy clenched his teeth not to let escape a sigh of despair and frustration: Narcissa and Draco would be at their home on the isle of Anglesey by tomorrow afternoon. They'd be frustrated and troubled not to find him there and not to have even a word of explanation on his whereabouts. Narcissa would be frightened! She knew and she was afraid; afraid of what could happen to Lucius, afraid to lose her life, her love, her husband and the father of her son!

  
  


‚Would you allow me to inform my family that I am retained for an unknown amount of time on business abroad?' Lucius muttered almost inaudibly. 

  
  


It were the first words since he had confirmed to the German auror his identity, date of birth and marital situation.

  
  


‚Mister Malfoy, I am afraid that I cannot allow this.' Weigold's voice was calm and polite at the edge of kindness and compassion. He was a tremendously experienced counterintelligence officer and knew how to play a prisoner like a well-tuned violine. He was also a man of patience and determination and today he was determined to break open the shell of fear and defiance of the man in front of him. 

  
  


Something, an undefined feeling in the guts told him, that it could be useful in a very close future..........from what the French had told him, considering the rumours on Voldemort and his terrorist grouping reactivated and in line with the intelligence the German authorities had themselves..........It was never easy and sometimes anded in deep frustration and utter failure, but if ever he would manage to turn this desperate man who set in front of him clutching his tatoo and worrying about his family...........Weigold gave the faintest of smiles, more to himself and the audience behind the blind mirror then to the bend and broke British dark wizard on the other side of the table...........

  
  


‚What I may allow you, Mr.Malfoy' He said with his soft, deep voice that could be so comforting and soothing on occasions ‚is to inform the terrorist Voldemort that for reasons of ‚business' on his behalf you are still retained in Germany for a while......I am willing to give you a chance to buy yourself time, if you are willing to give me........'

  
  


Weigold dropped his voice to an even more soft whisper and bent closer to the sunk form of Lucius'......replies to a couple of questions I have concerning the funds and the curious activities on several other bank acounts in France and in the US!' 

  
  


He did not mention the UK, since he was not informed about what Lucius had been doing over there. For France he knew from the DGSE and General Fillon and for Germany and the US he had seen with his own eyes.

  
  


‚If you let my inform ‚Him', you may also give in as to my family, Mr.Weigold. It does not make a difference to you, but it makes a difference to me........' Lucius still maintained his bent down position, hidding his face and features from the German auror. His voice was controlled and hiding all emotions and fear. A chance to delay the Master's wrath was not worth any replies, since he could only delay the torment to start and after a time his fate would catch up with him anyhow.The Dark Mark was the fatality of a Death Eater. But.....to get intelligence through to Narcissa and Draco....and perhaps a warning would be worth his sacrifice! He'd give his life gladly to protect theirs. From the very day he had married Narcissa Black against the strong objections of her and his family out of love and devotion and not for reasons of pureblood politics or a rich dowry, he had known that he would be capable of such a sacrifice! When they had started to date Lucius had already been a follower of Voldemort and was fully aware of the risks and dangers of this choice. It had been at this very moment that he had decided that his personal hapiness....and if it should be for a short amount of time only was worth the risk. Narcissa was the best thing that ever had happened to him. He had been graced with sixteen years of happiness in his couple.......if fate wanted him now to part, he would do so gladly and praise Heaven for the sweet memories with his last dying breath. But to die in peace even the most terrible of deaths he had to be sure that what was most precious to him and even more important that his own life was save and out of ‚His' reach. Should Lucius not return and answer his next call, he could be sure that the Dark One would make his family pay his lack of obedience or failure........

  
  


‚I will reply to all of your questions and accept Veritas Serum to prove the truthfulness of my answers, if you allow me to communicate with my family.......without you and your authorities controlling this communication!' Lucius had suddenly straightened up and looked right into Weigold's eyes.

  
  


His regard was determined and let the observer understand immediately that he would not discuss this issue.

  
  


The German counterintelligence wizard had been observing his prisoner carefully and he had understood clearly, that something with the man was terribly wrong and that it had to be linked with the tatoo he was clutching so desperately. The wrong was potentially so enormous, that for humanity's sake he had to take the risk and allow the contact with his family. Malfoy could not escape in any case. He could neither attempt to his life, since he was and would be under a 24 hours surveillance. He nodded.

  
  


‚Mr.Malfoy, I will allow you the contact with your wife and ......a son it is, as I understand. But I impress upon you sincerity! What are you afraid off to gamble so obstinately with me over an accusation on money laundering and tax fraud. This is not the end of the world! You will receive a sentence of about two years and if you behave correctly, should be released after half your term......with as a matter of fact the funds seized by the German authorities.......but we are talking about money......money, not your life or immortal soul!' 

  
  


Weigold continued to speak in his soft, deep, reassuring and soothing voice. He had the feeling that he was terribly close......just a heartbeat from truth......even without the Veritas Serum, yet another creation of Mr.Malfoy's pressumed partner in crime Prof.Dr.Severus A. Snape.........or was it realy X.X. this unidentified French colleague of his from the DGSE?

  
  


Lucius held Weigold's eyes, while his brain worked at speed of lightning. He was weighting his chances and possibilities and what he should trust the German auror with before he brought Veritas Serum. He threw a quick glance on to his left forearm, still covered with the grey sleeve of the prisoner's shirt. He'd start with the worst.......without being forced to do so. A show of good will in order to have a sheet of paper, a pencil and a speedy bird to take his message to Anglesey!

  
  


Slowly Lucius unbuttoned the sleeve and rolled it up. Then he laid his brandmarked arm on the table and began to talk.

  
  
  
  


A crowd had formed already and several policemen in uniform were busy to keep the curious people away from the storage facility. 

  
  


‚Sir, we have all exits covered now!' One of the uniformed policemen reported to an officer in plain clothes, who spoke into a cellphone. The man nodded absentmindedly, before he snapped into the phone'All units-move in at once.Now.'

  
  


Acknowledgments crackled over the police radio in the car.

  
  


‚Come on,' he snapped to the uniformed policeman by his side ‚Perhaps the guy has seen something or someone..'‚I do not hope so!'He added to himself, knowing exactly what had been going on in the night in the storage facility in the docklands of Southwark 'I hope not....'

The plain clothes ranker accompanied by the man in uniform walked over to another police car An elderly man in grey trousers and a short sleeved shirt steadied himself against the car, squinting as he looked into the bright morning sun that has just heaved itself about the flat horizon and the black waters of the Thames. It was ten o'clock in the morning but the sun was already burning down on the crowd and himself mercilessly. He had an ashen face and seemingly felt sick.

  
  


Cornelius Fudge stood with the crowd and stared at the display of law enforcement officers, medical personel in white blouses and people carrying obviously heavy scientific equipment into the place where he habitually met with Nouredine ben Kad'r. 

  
  


‚What's going on' He questioned the woman standing close to him and who was gasping wide eyes and curious at two medical personel who pushed between themselves a chariot with a black body bag towards a official vehicule marked as ‚Coroner's'.

  
  


She did not turn away her curious, greedy eyes and simply muttered to the unknown man by her side ‚Oh, there's been kind of showdown inside! I have always felt that this bunch was up to no good with this endless coming and going of funny people in their oriental clothes and all these lorries bringing stuff in and out and pretending it was a normal wholesales business. You can never trust these people from Arabia.'

  
  


‚North Africa!' Another byestander corrected her.'They were from North Africa.......Algeria if I remember well and they were dealing in foodstuff and fabrics from their country. Perhaps having not paid their bills or dealt in stolen goods or something!'

  
  


Another team of medical personel left the storage facility with another trolley and another black body bag towards the Coroner's vehicule in the side street.

  
  


Fudge gasped. He had to understand precisely what had been going on inside and why they were bringing out people in these strange black envelopes. Although he had been occasionally exposed to the muggle world, he had never gone deeply into the British system of law enforcement. He met on an annual basis with the Prime Minister of the UK for reasons of courtesy, but apart that mainly kept his own magic world to itself. He decided to leave the people he was standing with and carefully moved closer to the police car where an officer obviously discussed with someone who may have witnessed something. The muggle was ashen faced and the police officer occassionally put his hand on his shoulder to comfort or to reassure.

  
  


‚.......we had agreed to met here at ten o'clock as usual and then have coffee together before attending prayer!' The ashen-faced grey haired muggle explained in accent-tainted English. 

  
  


‚Since the side door was open, I entered without ringing the bell. We have been friends for years. I did it habitually when the delivery gate was not open or when I could not see any of the employees in front of the facility.' He continued. The police officer nodded, while the man in uniform continued to take down notes.

  
  


‚So your friend was not with the dead?'

  
  


The elderly Algerian shock his head ‚Only his employees.....Fahine, Daoud, the two brothers Akhmed and Tarik.....' He had to stop for a moment and take a deep breath. The memory of the last two named must have been very strong, since the police officer motionned another uniformed collaborater and said calmly ‚Please get us a glass and some water and inform the medical unit that after I have finished with Mr.Oulmi, they better have a look at him.'

  
  


Another body bag and another one where pushed towards the Coroner's vehicle. The elderly Algerian took gratefully his sipp of water and continued his story for the police officer. 

  
  


‚I felt something was wrong, when the telephone rang and nobody would reply. You see, the telephone is in Mr.Ben Kad'r's office and in order to hear it in the whole facility and being able to reply, they have several secondary posts for the same number all around in the building. Habitually there is always someone close to reply, since .......well, normaly a business man cannot afford to lose an order and an affair in these days and Nouredine had the reputation to speedily deliver and many restaurants in London had made it their habit to buy rather from him then from the two other wholesales merchants in the docks.......'

  
  


The officer cut the elderly Algerian short in his tale. He was absolutely not interested in what foodstuff the GIA delivered to the London Kebabs in order to keep up a cover of respectability. He was interested in Ben Kad'r and the identities of the people inside the body bags. It had been a while that he had been called upon to clean up a similar mess. Also it was evident that none of the Islamists the coroners were bringing outside had dies a slow and painfull dead, all bodies had been made up to look like maximum bloodshed. The French had been posting a very clear message to the GIA and he would see to it that the journalists who were habitually reporting on crimes and murder in the capital of the UK did not leave out the sliced throats and puddles of blood that had been the view inside the storage facility. He's see to it that the official autopsy reports mentionned multiple stabbing with sharp, pointed objects anbd other details. It was without importance for the audience, that all executed terrorists had met an extremly quick death by expert hands. 

  
  


While the elderly and tremendously shocked Algerian related how he found the first body in a puddle of blood with his throat sliced from ear to ear, the officer continued his more personal musing. The French had been quick and good. The neighbours during the night had not realized the drama that was unrolling inside the facility. The elderly man was the single ‚witness' and he had only found the bodies hours after the French had been off and away with their prey Ben Kad'r most certainly very much alive and kicking. Since none of their team had turned up at the police speedboat that had been patrolling the Thames that night in order to assist if requested or to take left overs back to a waiting Poseidon further down the Thames, he supposed that their ‚Black Op' had been a sucess through and through. Now it was his duty to leak ‚relevant' information to the press and let them know in a most discret manner who had been behind this mess, without clearly naming his colleagues from the other side of the Channel. They had asked for this in order to get their message over to the whole GIA organisation ‚If you kill ours, we'll kill yours. No mercy can be expected. An eye for an eye! A life for a life! We do not wear gloves and we are even worse bastards then you all together. Wherever you go and hide, we can find you and finish you off.......!'

  
  


Fudge listened intently to the story the elderly gentleman related. He tried to absorb all details and keep them in mind. He knew that it would be a very bad moment in his life when he'd be obliged to return to the master and explain to him, what had happened in Southwark and how this event was now uprooting all their plans for the beginning of September. The British Minister of Magic had the strange feeling that his newly found allies for Lord Voldemort's cause were gone forever and that he was back at step one........he'd have to find somebody else, build up trust, talk them into an alliance etc..........if ever he'd live long enough to do it. The master was not reputed to be a forgiving man..........he'd neither forgive something, which was entirely not Cornelius fault. He'd be simply furious that an external and uncontrolable factor had overthrown his plans and he'd take his wrath out on the next best victim. Fudge felt a sting in his heart when the elderly man continued to describe the bloody visions he'd had inside the storage facilities, emphasising the Nouredine Ben Kad'r was not between the death.

  
  


The British Minister of Magic could not make up his mind on why his North African ally had been spared or was missing. There were so many possibilities; he'd saved his life and was on the run! His body had been taken by the murderers and disposed of elsewhere! He had killed his people himself for an unknown reason and subsequently had disappeared from the surface of the earth! He had been captured by a player unknown to Fudge and was now spilling out secrets somewhere under muggle torture or magic Veritas Spells............

  
  


Fudge gave a deep sigh, when the tenth body bag disappeared in the Coroner's vehicule and the medical personel shout the doors to drive off with their ‚clients'. Apart learning that something terrible had happened, that there were ten dead men and that Nouredine Ben Kad'r himself and probably also ben Kad'r's djhinnij were missing, he had not learned a lot. All he could do, was to wait for the muggle newspapers next day and try to find out from the London Press what the police was willing to release to the general public.........

  
  


‚Believe me, Commissioner!' The elderly man said still ashen faced and shaky ‚To me, this does not look like a normal crime, thugs breaking into the storage facility and intending to rob merchandise and perhaps money. I have been living in my own country for most of my life and I have seen my lot of blood and destruction............to me, this looks like a settling of accounts. These poor boys have been killed by professionals, who had no intent to steak whatsoever from my friend Mr. Ben Kad'r. They have come here to put up a demonstration of power and to shook. I'd not be surprised if you'd find out that the Secret Police of my country Algeria had their fingers in this bloodshed. They are unbelieving bastards. They have always been after the men who kept their faith in Allah and not into their god-less government that has betrayed our religion to the Soviet communist regime just in order to make them sell weapons for the Armed Forces and help them keep their dirty hands clutched on all positions of influence and economic outlets.............At home they kill and capture and torture good muslims every day, because they are afraid of the strenghth of our faith and they chase the firmest and most unbending belivers away from the place where we have been born.........'

  
  


Fudge closed his eyes for a short moment, trying to absorb this last, highly interesting information. If ever the theory this elderly and shocked Algerian spilled out to the police officer was true..........it may be enough to save himself from a full blow of the master's wrath. He had to find out a bit more for himself and perhaps find friends of Ben Kad'r who were willing and interested to take his place and accept to wag terror on the muggles in exchange for their magic help to settle accounts with the murderers of Southwark. The Minister of Magic decided that he had been around here in this gory place long enough. He'd probably find out more in tomorrow's printed press. Silently he made his way away from the crowd in order to disappear into a discret corner that would allow him to apparate back to his office. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	54. A Darker Shade of Grey

**Chapter 53 A Darker Shade of Grey**

Snape looked at his shaking hands, quivering in front of his face. His eyes filled with a leaky flood of self-hatred, his body was possessed by an ague of terror. 

He had tried not to tremble any more after he re-entered the bathroom to get himself under another boiling hot shower, but it had been no good. He'd had to calm himself down, or try to-he was so frightened! 

He'd been back from the debriefing two hour and he was still shaking like a leaf. He had literally fled the office they had used , fled because of that blasted victorious smirk on the faces of Moody, Dumbledore and Fillon after the comparison of the taped operation with the contents of Harry's Pensiève. 

They'd been obviously happy with the highly successful test run, since it worked with or without Voldemort. Severus' Dark Mark contained enough dark magic to activate the link with Harry and the link was so concise, that the Pensiève showed not only what he had seen and done, but also what he had felt and thought....... It was indeed a perfect tool for their purpose!

Holy Merlin, why had he had to listen and watch it all over again? It was terrible, terrible.

His fear was real and deep in every part of his body like a fever. He clutched his right hand over the faded Dark Mark on his left forearm, as if it had started to burn red with rage. 

He folded his arms over his bare, muscled chest. Head bent and eyes firmly shut, he let water flow over his back and the scars of his past. Although the scars were by now healed and closed again, he had the impression that they burnt and hurt as if freshly reopened with the Dark Lord's poisoned wand. His darker side relished in the pain the almost boiling water caused on the still sensitive skin. As if pain was redemption for the fresh blood on his hands and soul!

Severus had left the memory within Harry's Pensiève in a mindset completely different from the elation and triumph of a Moody, Dumbledore and Fillon. Although with tremendous self-control he had been able to prevent his hands and body from starting to shake in front of these three, he had experienced the odd feeling to suffocate in a room full of air.  It was not the scene in itself that had caused his reaction! He'd been in the storage facility and killed those men hardly two hours earlier.

What had really come as a shock to him were his feelings and thoughts during the operation..........His feelings! It was more the complete absence of any human feelings that had been a shock to Severus. So he was indeed what many whispered behind his back: A mechanical contrivance! He was a mechanical contrivance with a very pronounced killer instinct. And this was the simple reason why he was still alive. 

Harry had realized it, too. He had even articulate this reality ,How could you?' 

  


Harry had understood that as soon as Severus was ,activated' by an order or a specific situation, he shifted into a simple shark mood....like one of those muggle machines, where you simply had to push a button. 

The terrible thing about this newfound knowledge with the boy was, that Harry had asked Severus to teach him this very secret of physical and psychological survival in extreme situations. 

He had tried to reason with Harry outside, on the helicopter landing zone, while his weary and drained comrades made their way back to the hangar. Harry had simply dismissed Severus' arguments and logic, that it was probably something one could not teach to another and if he could teach him, would the boy happily employ himself at fifteen years of age to completely empty himself of emotion and face the consequences of such a ,skill'?

Severus' stomach cramped agonizingly and he closed the hot water, groaning and retching dryly. Why couldn't they have accepted his resisting to have Harry run this stupid trial with the Pensiève? Instinctively he had refused it and  so had Damien and Yvan........both men with an extremely traumatizing past and very pronounced survival skills, too. 

The first memory had been an accident......valuable so, because they had gained an insider view of Voldemort's brain and ways of thought. But they should have savoured the little victory over the Dark Lord and let it be. 

Slowly the pain retreated from his stomach and his old scars stopped to burn and hurt. His head cleared a little. His brow felt cool at least. Harry had let go of his neck on the airfield and slipped from the elder wizards arms back onto the solid ground. He had motioned Severus to walk with him away from the hangar. 

He had told him about this nightmare that came back regularly: Cedric Diggory lying on the ground with blank eyes staring at him.........and all this because he had been a young fool who had been wearing his heart proudly on his sleeve an instant earlier in the maze of the Triwizzard tournament. 

Severus had let him speak. Harry had held his head down during his sad, little monologue....as if ashamed.

' Since I can remember, I have been always unable to empty myself of emotions when put under strain and each time I allowed this to happen, I became an easy prey for dark and dangerous dealings.' 

The boy had told him about Dudley's birthday and the zoo; a few weeks before he'd received his letter from Hogwarts, when he had been aged ten......and about the snake he'd released in an instant of strong emotion while making at the same moment fall his dunce cousin into the wild animal's terrarium.

Severus had kept his silence, allowing Harry to continue. 

  


,Those who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked so easily - weak people in other words- they stand no chance against someone with Voldemort's powers......and this weakness makes them a danger to others, since this creature can penetrate such a mind with absurd ease and manipulate you like a puppet on strings!'

Severus had simply laid his arm around the boy's shoulder, but Harry had shaken him off and turned around. His tiny, little, sad voice becoming almost inaudible. 

,I am weak! I cannot control my anger and I am unable to discipline my mind and worst of all.......I do not even try, because it is much easier to chose this way then to take upon myself responsibility or restraint! Imagine what could have happened when we decided to protect the stone of Flamel and stumbled over Voldemort on Quirell's head. Ron got himself almost killed by the enchanted chess pieces and Hermione risked her skin, solving your riddle.......and all this because I was a weak fool who was easy to manipulate! Oh shit, I cannot forget these blank eyes of Cedric starring at me and accusing me........I should have listened to that voice, telling me to take the goblet for myself......alone.....but 'No' and now he's dead and I am alive and I have obviously learned nothing from this constant stumbling into messy situations and dragging others along with me..........'

Severus dried himself with a towel and picked up a clean combat fatigue from his navy haversack. He groaned in desperation. He locked at his watch, then at the clock next to his bed. Five o'clock in the morning. The black moonless night stared back at him , as blank as his own gaze. How could they have been so blind? How could he have been so blind.......?

He opened the door of his room with a silent gesture of his hand. His eyes were adapted to the dark and he knew this building inside out. Like a silent shadow he made his way to the guest rooms. Harry's chamber was between Alastor's and Albus'. Albus would skin him alive for what Severus intended to do now, but after the reaction and monologue on the airfield the young druid did not care any more about Dumbledore's master plan against Voldemort. 

He'd not allow the Headmaster to set up this child like a pawn on a chess board whenever it became him...whenever he felt, he could provoke his adversary Voldemort out into the open onto a battlefield with a simple move of the pawn! 

Habitually Severus knocked before invading another person's privacy, but now old-fashioned courtesy had to step back. With a light swish of his hand he opened the door to Harry's chamber, then he murmured the strongest silencing charm he knew. He entered the room like a shadow only to realize that he had been right in his analysis of the situation. 

The boy's bed was untouched. A lean silhouette was visible on the little balcony. Harry stood there, alone and lost, staring into the dark motionlessly. 

'Harry, what makes you think that 'a creature' can penetrate such a mind as yours with absurd ease and manipulate you like a puppet on strings?' He asked  the marble statute on the balcony softly. He had taken a seat on a chair close to the boy's bed.

  


Harry let the  iron-wrought handrail of the balcony go and turned around. Although he had not heard Severus enter his room, he had felt his presence immediately. 

'You do not want to teach me, don't you?' The boy replied, finding himself a place on his bed opposite to Severus' chair. 'And you are mad at me because I accepted to run this trial with our link.............and found out?'

,Found out? What?'

,That you never loose your control, that you can function without the slightest hint of emotion, that you are able to keep a hold even on your thoughts.......not to betray to others what you are up to.........not even in the most dangerous and life threatening situations and by doing so you get yourself out of each and every mess.... without ever dragging others into it or making them pay for your mistakes.'

,Oh, what a novelty!' Severus voice turned from gentle to sarcastic in an instant.

,After knowing me for four years, you finally find out that I am a cold-blooded, heartless bastard with no scruples and who is able to slice a throat without even a second thought.......and you wish to acquire these wonderful competencies, too since they seem to be the universal remedy against making mistakes!' 

Severus was fully aware that cuddling the boy would be the worst thing he could do in this situation: Harry had been brought up in deep distrust of the adult world because of the silly and heartless behaviour of Lily's sister and her overgrown, fat husband. At Hogwarts he had continued to live in deep distrust of all grown ups, although he had been pretending to confide in Albus, Minerva, Remus and Sirius. 

But he had not! He had never ever in his life trusted. He had only tried to cope all alone and to copy a certain range of behavioural patterns from those he pretended to trust and now it was Severus' tour......since Harry could no longer deny that he was fighting the Dark Lord on Dumbledore's side and was just a darker shade of grey, not a full-fledged dark wizard! 

,Please, don't be sarcastic with me. I think you understand exactly what it is all about, Severus.' Harry tucked his knees under his chin and closed his eyes. 

It was all about his brain telling him one thing and his heart making him do something completely different. Severus was exactly the other way round; Harry had understood in the meantime that the bat had a heart, emotions, feelings, humanity and moral values, but he never allowed them to overcome his clear, cold logic. He controlled them and never let them interfere with what had to be done, even if he had to pay a high personal price for this. Harry was convinced that it was exactly this kind of control, he had to learn: Think first, act next!

,Why didn't you tell your godfather what was going on during last year?' Snape's voice was back from sarcastic to soft. He'd be able to teach the boy certain things.... so to say the technicalities of self control, but all the rest he had to learn for himself.......probably the hard way, from experience, trial and error.... and with the years to come, when he would grow out of childhood and into a man.

,I was afraid, he'd do something brash and get into harms way!' Harry replied honestly.

,I did not want to upset him!' He continued.

  


Severus nodded. The young one did not want a grown up wizard, who was perfectly capable to weight the extent of his actions to do something.......brash, while he himself jumped head first into utmost recklessness the same moment! And he had the feeling that telling Sirius, what was tormenting him and what he could not figure out would be a burden for the elder man. Harry considered that if he asked for help, he was burdening someone else, that he was a burden to others.

Well! Coddling was definitively not a way to make Mister Potter understand certain realities of life. He'd need a tougher approach! 

Albus would definitively skin and quarter him , when he'd learn that Severus told Harry about the two Trelawney Prophecies. 

He had kept them both from the boy, since he pretended to care about him and his happiness, more then about him knowing the truth. He believed that Harry struggled already under more burdens than any student who had ever passed through his school and that under these circumstances he could not bring upon himself to add another-the greatest one of them all! 

And what had come out of this ,loving too much', ,caring too much'......?

Exactly the contrary of what Dumbledore had wished: Harry was neither happy nor living with his mind in peace! 

All he had were doubts, self-loathing, a feeling of betrayal and the knowledge that a large part of his life had been built upon lies. If they'd let Harry continue to run on his track, he'd turn out sooner or later a very angry and desperate young man......an easy  prey for the Dark One and not his future potential conqueror. 

,Harry, I cannot teach you, what you ask of me!'

The boy opened his eyes, lifted his head and faced Snape who still sat on his chair, legs crossed and with an unreadable expression over his fathomless, black eyes that were more raven then human in the dim morning light. His voice had not betrayed any emotion either. It had been a matter-of-fact statement.

,Harry, I cannot teach you to trust others and to judge, who is worthy and who is unworthy of this trust of yours. This is something that has to come from you!' He rose an eyebrow in his very best Hogwarts ,Snape-the-Bastard'-manner and locked his black eyes into Harry's green ones.

,Do you trust Albus Dumbledore?' He challenged the boy. 

Albus had been a kind of grandfather figure for the young one over the last four years; an understanding, caring, forgiving and tremendously biased grandfather, who'd overlook each and every break of the rules of the game and pardon whatsoever ruthless deed of Harry's. 

What did Albus care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in a vague future, if in his here and now Harry was alive, and well and happy?

,Generally speaking ,Yes', Severus.....for a couple of details......I have my doubts, huge doubts!' The boy replied truthful, holding the young wizard's gaze. 

  


Snape's brow rose a bit higher, but it was not in a menacing way; it was almost an amused grin. Harry had been perfectly honest!

The young druid  had decided against coddling the boy and therefore ruthlessly entered his mind to read a little bit around during their early-morning discussion. 

,Do you trust Sirius Black?'

Harry did not reply. He gave a simple nod to acknowledge Severus' question.

,You sure?' Snape nagged. 

Harry's mind was set on Sirius in a very positive manner indeed. Sirius was his godfather, the closest thing to a real family! But on the other hand the boy was fully aware that he hardly knew the man, who had spent 12 years in Askaban and was now still in hiding and only occasional written contact with him. But since his parents had chosen Black as his godfather, he had a tendency to accept this choice without questioning.

,Yes, Severus! I do trust Sirius, also I am aware that I still have to get to know him. But since my parents......'

,So if you trust Sirius, why not go to him for help, support and advice?' 

Severus knew that the question was a nasty provocation: Black was on the run.....and Black was probably not even willing to take upon himself the harder duties of being a godfather to this young man........twelve years in a filthy prison cell were not an incentive to draw a line with a fifteen years old, when need arose. 

And there were other things in Siri's character that Severus remembered only too well: If ever he could, he'd most certainly first make up for the 12 years Azkaban had stolen from him and then.....only then, turn to Harry and his obligations as a substitute parent.

Sirius still topped the ,Most Wanted Criminals List' in Great Britain, Muggle and Magic alike and even on the European continent he could not be sure as to his security. Black would have to stay out of everybody's view until his name could be cleared officially........or a certain Peter Pettigrew brought to a confession and further......to a trial.

,You are a bastard, Severus!' Harry replied. 

There was no aggressiveness in his voice, only a hint of sadness.

The young wizard smiled and acknowledged with a nod ,I am Harry, but could you conceive, that I have a very good reason to be one?'

,Stop to play this game with me please! Come straight to your point; you want to hear something, but I honestly cannot figure out what.'

Snape left his chair and went over to the bed.

'Harry, whom can you trust, if there is nobody else left? Hmm! Did you ever think about yourself? Learn to trust yourself, learn to trust your own judgement. Weight what facts you have against the impressions you get........that's exactly what you'd do in a game of chess. Think, employ your reason, your intelligence, your wit......'

,Severus, you know that it is easy to give such a clever theoretical piece of advise, but it is not easy to follow it......not in my situation, not with who I am....'

,You did not ask me to teach you the easy way, young man! You asked me to teach you the right way and how to get your neck off the Dark Lord's guillotine! And this is, what I try to do. My way - what you observed this night, what you dropped later on as a silvery thread of memory into the Pensiève - is perhaps not your way! There is no use to try and copy something and then to fiddle around and apply it  to a completely different case. This may lead to nothing less then utter failure! Harry you and I, we are different; we have a different background and education, a different life altogether and first and foremost a different destiny and future! To me, the Dark Lord is just a ,job', another mission......well, a pretty tough one and sometimes I am mightily pissed that I ever accepted to get myself involved in this shit, instead of slicing Islamists' throats in filthy riverside storage facilities or sneak into some godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere in order to help a handful of politically correct idealists to fight against their political regime to protect some hidden interests of the French government in some region of the world.'

Although there was quite a lot to what Severus had told him, Harry could not prevent himself from smiling. That sentence was simply too long and too complicate!

Snape answered the boy's smile with a raised eyebrow.

,So to you it is just another soldier's job, and this is the reason why ,your way' works?'

The young wizard nodded.

,I was told from the very beginning what role I had .....in general, if not in details! I was also pretty much aware of the risks I took and.....of the consequences of a failure....I had been carefully trained for two years to do this kind of work........The stuff they were hiding from me......well, either I somehow managed to figure it out myself or it was not important for the part I had to play. Now, when it comes to you, the situation is different: Nobody ever told you, what part you have to play and since you cannot figure it out yourself, you cannot draw the right conclusions and act correspondingly. And nobody taught you ever, how to face such situations and how to get yourself out of them.....if possible! It was not even intended to prevent you from running wild.......since you were considered .....'Snape withdraw slightly from Harry and crossed his arms over his chest. His voice dripped with sarcasm.

,.....an ,ultimate weapon'!

,Why?' Harry shifted his position into an Indian seat and tugged his chin onto his hands. 

It was strange; Severus was back to playing this strange ,Snape-the-Bastard' role from Hogwarts so entirely on purpose. There was something going on; a kind of test, an effort to make him react in a certain way.......a provocation! But even more intriguing; Harry could feel clearly that he did not do it in order to hurt  or even worse....to humiliate. The bat was teasing, trying to draw strings, to make him dance like that afore-mentioned puppet! 

  


,On a cold, wet night  some fifteen years ago, right at the height of the first war with the Dark Lord and with the entire wizarding world of Great Britain in a situation of fear and terror, right in a room above the bar at the infamous and filthy Hog's Head Inn of Hogsmeade, Albus Dumbledore met an applicant for the post of Divination teacher at Hogwarts, though it was against the Headmaster's inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all at the school. The applicant however was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous and very gifted Seer and Albus thought it common politeness to meet her. They discussed for a while, had a couple of drinks. Dumbledore quizzed her a little bit......the habitual game between an employer and a potential future employee. He was disappointed! It seemed to him, that this applicant had not a trace of her ancestor's gift herself! She seemed to be a complete fraud! When Albus' patience came to an end, he told her as politely as he could, that he did not think her suitable for the job. He paid the drinks, stood up and turned to leave. But before he could get out, something very strange happened. The hour was close to midnight on September 30th 1981. The fraud suddenly rose from her place in the bar and spoke again. It was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh horse tones you had heard already once before........! I think you remember that one pretty well?'

Harry nodded. He had now his eyes looked into Severus. The stuff the young wizard told him was intriguing and the man knew how to tell a story.

Snape concentrated to recall the exact phrasing of Sybil's first prophecy. It was important! Each and every word counted. He had heard the full prophecy only once, when Dumbledore had allowed him to visit his own memory in his Pensiève, shortly before Harry started his first year at Hogwarts.

,The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches........born to those who have trice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.......and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not....and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives......the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh months dies......'

,Severus' Harry said very quietly, lowering his head and breaking eye contact with the young wizard ,....It....did that mean.....Voldemort knows, doesn't he?'  

Snape gave a small nod ,Indeed, he had been informed concerning this prophecy. There had been a spy in the inn, but they threw him out before Sybil Trelawney was finished. He transmitted only part of the thing.......not the end, not the clue about the ,neither can live while the other survives'. He was already after your parents for other reasons......the reasons Albus Dumbledore explained to you a couple of days ago and on first sight, neither the Dark One nor Albus could make something of Sybil's words. All they knew was that it had been a real prophecy and that they had to watch out.........The first real prophecy of Sybil Trelawney translated for both into the fact, that the person who has the ONLY chance of conquering the Dark Lord for good had been born at the end of July in the Year xxxx or would be born in a future year xxx and that this child -a boy probably, due to the phrasing- had been born or was to be born to parents who had already defied the Dark One three times.'

Harry felt as though something was closing in on him. His breathing became low and irregular, almost like gasping for air.

,It means -me, Severus?'

  


,Today, with having all the facts we have and knowing all we know.......definitively yes, Harry! Then -on the other hand- in those days long gone by.......no!  It may not have been you at all. Trelawney's prophecy could have applied already to two wizard boys Albus Dumbledore knew very well and which were both born at the end of July 1980 and both of whom had parents, having narrowly escaped the Dark Lord three times. One, of course was you. The other one was Neville Longbottom!'

Severus gave a deep sigh: It had been indeed unclear to whom Sybil had been referring and furthermore, Albus had not really paid attention to the prophecy in late September 1981. He had simply kept it in mind: Great Britain's wizarding world was at war against the Dark Lord and there were so many families that had defied him, so many who had stood up in acts of formidable heroism and who were still to perish in terrible self-sacrifice. It could have been whatsoever child. Even a girl had not been excluded, since  ,The one with the power' could refer to both sexes. It could have been a child of the past, a child of the present or even a child of the future.......it could be Harry or Neville, since their parents fulfilled the conditions of the prophecy, too.

,Harry, the part of the prophecy that was brought to ,His' attention was exactly the following: ,The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches........born to those who have trice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.......and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not!' This generated something, you may easily figure out yourself: He was brought to the conviction, that a concurrent, not a potential conqueror was already around or would be born sometime soon. He did therefore something extremely clever; he decided to investigate silently and secretly, who could be that potential pretender to the job of biggest bully on the playground. He made it also known, that there would be quite a nice reward for the one, who brought him the name of such a possible pretender.........'

,This is were Pettigrew forfeited his friendship for my mum and dad?'

Severus gave another sigh. Pettigrew never ever had had the slightest feeling of friendship for James, Sirius, Remus or Lily. He had simply clung to the Marauders, because nobody else wanted him and with friends like Black and Potter, he had been basically safe from the harassing from other groups at the school. Hogwarts in his days in the late seventies had been a school.....with all its advantages and flaws and the pupils had been as good or as bad as today: Friendships and enmities, boiling hormones and brainless youth........it had been a tremendously normal educational environment with tremendously normal youngsters and with a terribly frightened Peter Pettigrew, who had been always a diehard coward. He had gone with the Marauders, because they had been a group of strong bullies! He could have gone with others, too......but for a Gryffindor James and Sirius had been the first choice........

  


,I suppose so, Harry! I have seen Pettigrew.....whom I believed dead for fourteen years a couple of days ago by the side of the Dark One alive and kicking myself. You saw him already in the graveyard. From this we must suppose that it was indeed him who sold you and your parents. Let me say it that way: Pettigrew was the one who brought the information most liable to attract ,His' attention and fall in line with ,His' knowledge and interpretation of the prophecy. There have been others......as far as I know. But in the end it was you, who got the scar for one reason or another, while other ,targets' that fell in line with Sybil's stuff simply died.......or ended up mad in St.Mungo's........or were left hardly better then squibs. Well, Harry I cannot spare you the fact, that considering all this stuff I told you and the contents of Trelawney's prophecy, which are now known to you, there is nothing else left but to take my bit of advise from before: learn to trust yourself, learn to trust your own judgement. Weight what facts you have against the impressions you get........that's exactly what you'd do in a game of chess. Think, employ your reason, your intelligence, your wit......You have no other choice and if you mess it up.........there is more to it then just you and your life and future! It means that we are all stuck with the Dark One forever and he'll win and then he'll ravage the grounds and many of us will pay the ultimate prize for having fought him, defied him, opposed him, betrayed him........lied at him or beguiled him!'                   

Harry gasped at Severus' last sentences. He understood perfectly what game the old bat had been playing with him.

Severus had literally put a knife to his throat and this knife translated: 'Continue in your old ways and everything goes to the dustbin and it will be your fault or take upon yourself to change your ways, grow up and ........do your job like a man! The choice is yours! Make it and face the consequences!' 

That was pretty hard stuff and so..........unfair......Unfair? No! It was dead honest, straightforward und blunt! It was the best piece of advice he'd ever had in his life: You are cornered? You want a way out? Fight!

,You are really a cold-blooded, heartless bastard, Severus. You tell me the truth and  the very moment a grown up is finally honest with me and worth of my trust, he is blackmailing me without even flinching a teeth!'

,Young man, you asked me to teach you! This was simply the first lesson. The world is a tough place to be! You want to learn? Then we play this game by my rules......nothing else! Allow me to be honest with you for the second time today and to tell you another truth and to put another piece of my trust in you: Sybil made a second prophecy, exactly one year after the first defeat of the Dark One! I was made aware of this prophecy only a couple of days ago and it has influenced to a very large extent my decision on what you shall be taught and how.'

,What is the second one?'

Snape rose from the bed and went over to the balcony. He turned his back to Harry. The boy was clever! He'd captured the attempt blackmail! But he was still a child and fortunately so: He had no clue, why Severus had chosen this rough-and-ready approach. Harry lacked to a huge amount self-confidence and he made this up with recklessness and thoughtless adventuring onto forbidden and dangerous grounds. He loathed himself for it, but could not prevent himself from continuing on this path of doom. And the drama was, that Harry had set up his mind so much in his erroneous ways, that he even claimed the responsibility for Cedric Diggory's death......an unfortunate casualty of war. A casualty of war like many others. Cedric would have died anyhow.....with or without Harry. He'd taken the portkey himself and alone, he'd have been exterminated. He took it with Harry, his destiny had been exactly the same....

But that fatality was slowly eating up the boy's soul and heart, causing damage which could soon be beyond repair. 

On the other hand Harry was courageous, loyal and intelligent. These three peculiar traits of character could be used to counter-balance his flaws and shortcomings.

Severus had decided to employ Harry's good sides in a very reckless manner: Loyalty, courage, and intelligence! With a little bit of manipulation here and there he could show him a way to self-confidence and control. A self-confidence beyond the permanent need for the approval of third parties. 

It was this permanent quest for approval from others that made Harry so reckless and dangerous.......not his powers and already remarkable magic skills.

The young druid closed his eyes and dived deep into his own mind to recall Albus' exact wording.

  


'The Dark Lord is the beast that has been loosed upon the world and who has tasted human blood and now must be destroyed. The Raven is my servant that I have stationed to protect the helpless one and to hunt down and destroy that which would hurt and destroy my little one, the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord and who will be born as the seventh months dies. Since the Raven when he defies the Dark Lord three times will hand my little one his shield. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord thrust in the sword with all his might and know that the Raven not only fights beside him but that the power of the Raven is inside him as well giving him the might to strike sure and deep to the heart of the beast that would slay my sheep and that the victory is already won for those with courage enough to start the Hunt!'

When Severus spoke the last sentences he already felt a presence behind his back. He brought the slight smile over his face back under control and returned to expressionless and unreadable. Now it would be very interesting with young Mister Potter. How would he react?

Two hands were placed firmly on the Potions Master's shoulders and a strange voice declared  ,You lied to me, Severus!'

Snape grinned inwardly. The two hands forced him to turn around and face his ,opponent'. He was still a head smaller and Severus would be able to enjoy towering him like a menacing, mean old bat for.........maximum another year! The second smirk ......inwardly! Outside long years of training showed an unreadable face and a pair of dark pits that instantly locked into the green eyes of young Mister Potter. He'd have to profit from this slight advantage to marauder his mind.....before Harry would understand the game.

,It is not just a job for you......a mission like other missions. It is as much your destiny as it is mine!'

An eyebrow rose in a familiar high arch ,Indeed? After four years of knowing me you should be aware that I can chose to be quite........elusive in my wordings.'

Harry took a deep breath. He would not allow Severus to provoke him. Severus was playing a game he did not understand 100% and he preferred to be careful with this secret inside a mystery within a cloud who had been shepherding him for the last four years out of harms way as much as possible and who had already once almost let his life in order to save his.

,Do I understand this prophecy correctly if I assume that.........should I ever mess up my act I do risk not only my skin but yours too.......and since you have to open the game of chess, it will be your head first?'

,Do you wish me to comment on this, Harry?' 

A second eyebrow rose and Hogwarts' well-known bastard stood right in front of his favourite prey. Only the habitually quivering nostrils of that eagles' beak where not ......activated.

'Why did you chose to place your trust in me.........knowing exactly my flaws and shortcomings and having them smeared into my face quite viciously over the last four years, whenever occasion arose?' 

Harry replied with a question. He had the feeling that Severus was testing to which point he'd stand his ground if attacked, provoked or beguiled. He had also the feeling, that his elusive and secretive Potions Master was reading his mind to check out the veracity of statements and allegations.

Snape did not reply. He only let go his habitual mask and smiled. Then he threw a glance at Harry's clock by the bedside. It was a little bit past eight in the morning. Time for breakfast and to get young Mr.Potter back home to Montmuran, his summer term holidays, his youthful pastimes and his lady-love. 

'What about a cup of coffee and fresh pastries, young man?'

  
  



	55. The Price of Love

****

Chapter 54The Prize of Love

  
  
Narcissa Malfoy looked around in wonder. The place was really splendid.  
The sight over the Rhine was breathtaking and the August sun glowing  
brightly over the beautiful valley covered with vineyards and remnants  
of fortress walls from times long gone bye gave a fairy tale aspect to  
the whole scenery. 

The wonderful view over the most beautiful part of  
the Rhine Valley, with the famous and unique stronghold, the castle on  
the island in the middle of the Rhine, Pfalzgrafenstein; the brisk and  
plentiful boat traffic on the Rhine - all this was a delight to the  
beholder!  
  
Draco presented his arm in a very courteous manner to his mother.  
  
'I think, we should go inside now, My Lady and get rid of our luggage  
first!'  
  
He smiled mischievously, beholding his mother's totally enthralled  
gaze. He knew this gaze very well; Narcissa was interested in  
culture and very knowledgeable with architecture, paintings and  
sculpture. During their sojourn at Florence he had seen that very gaze  
almost constantly...seconds before she'd squeeze his hand and start  
to explain to him in her soft low voice, telling him some details or an  
anecdote about the place they were visiting or the work of art they  
were watching. He enjoyed these moments of complicity with her more  
then the wildest game of Quidditch or even a boat ride with Lucius over  
the Atlantic Ocean in front of their island home off the shores of  
England.  
  
When they had returned from Italy to Anglesey only 24 hours ago his  
father's stately falcon had flown straight into Draco and presented him  
with a thick envelop covered in Lucius' handwriting. It had been full  
with superb photographs of the countryside they were now looking at and  
a short but enthusiastic note from the elder Malfoy.

'Forget about the stiff social occasion and the bloody boat racing thing. You MUST join  
me over here. It is the most enchanted place I have ever seen. Get  
yourselves some change .........Love Lucius !'

  
A small portkey had been attached to his father's message.  
  
It was not unusual for Lucius to send this kind of invitation to his  
wife and only son when on business abroad. Sometimes he simply got  
enthusiastic about a place he visited and felt an urgency to share  
this with his family.

  
They had not hesitated for a second. Draco had stormed up to his rooms,  
throwing their luggage from the Italy trip into a house elf's hands and  
ordered her to prepare another set of luggage for him and his mom,  
while a smiling Narcissa had simply set down to write some excuse  
letters concerning their planned presence at the Annual Charity and  
the Boat Race on Anglesey. After a quick shower, a short diner and a  
night of sleep the two had traveled in high spirits to Germany to meet  
Lucius.  
  
An employee of the Hotel Castle greeted them cheerfully, not even asking  
a question on how they had managed to turn up at the gates without a  
taxi or any other transportation around. He took the luggage from  
Draco's hand in an instant. Then to the surprise of the young man he  
drew a wand and pointed it at the enormous gates of the castle. They  
swung open without the slightest noise.

  
' Lady Malfoy, young Lord Malfoy, we have been expecting you!'  
  
The employee spoke perfect English, although he had a hard German  
accent.  
  
'It is an old custom on Castle Gutenfels that for anyone who comes in  
peace, the doors will be opened wide in welcome. Castle Gutenfels above  
Kaub on Rhine is one of the most beautiful castles in Germany. You  
only become aware of the greatness of this castle, its beauty and its  
secrets, when you are prepared to open your heart and accept the magic  
and romantic of the place. Gutenfels is over one thousand years old.'  
  
'Thank you!' 

Narcissa replied with a smile. Lucius was such a love to organize this and the reception by the gate was every inch her beloved husband; his style, his class and his  
never-ending joy to make her and Draco feel special.

  
'Lord Malfoy has informed us that he will arrive not later then  
lunchtime. He asked us to confer his excuses, since he is still bound  
to finish some business in Cologne before joining you.' 

The employee explained Lucius absence easily, while leading Narcissa and Draco through the gates.

  
With the closure of the heavy castle gates, the noise and hectic of the  
outside world disappeared. A new world full of romantic magic  
surrounded a delighted Draco and happily smiling Narcissa. The many  
small gardens they saw during their walk up to the main building were  
equally romantic and delightful. There were terraces, and alcoves to be  
found on Castle Gutenfels and from all of them there was a wonderful  
view into the Rhine Valley.

  
The employee stood still for a moment and motioned with his hand to  
the two guests.

  
  
'Up-stream you can see to the large bend in the Rhine and Bacharach,  
down-stream to Oberwesel and the Castle Schumburg, and beneath you  
this is the old town of Kaub. 

This....'

He pointed to another spot on the horizon.

' ...is the Island Falkenau with the famous Pfalzgrafstein.'

  
They delivered their passports at the reception desk for registration  
and a middle-aged lady, obviously as much a witch as the young employee  
was a wizard took a huge key from a chest of drawers.  
  
'I will show you to your rooms now, if you please.' 

She said politely to Draco and Narcissa. 

' After you have settled down, you may wish to have some refreshment on the Northern Terrace before lunch.'

  
Dr.Dieter Weigold gave a sigh. It had been a race against time to set  
up this unsuspecting scenery. Moreover, it had been a truly hard job to  
convince Malfoy not to write the letter he intended to send to  
Anglesey, but to trust him and play by his rules of the game. 

The German counterintelligence wizard was tremendously relieved when the  
heavy gates of the Castle Gutenfels were solidly shut again. Behind the  
protective wards of the ancient fortress his prisoner's wife and son  
would be out of reach for the terrorist Voldemort and he could progress  
his daring plan unhindered.

  
Malfoy had accepted to cooperate in exchange for the security of his  
family. Following his confession and explanations, they had tried him  
under Veritas Serum. Weigold by now understood that the man was indeed  
completely honest. He did not care for either his life or his safety.  
He was ready to pay the price for his following the Dark Lord and  
for all the crimes he had been committing for and on behalf of his  
'Master' over the last two decades. 

All Lucius truly cared for were this beautiful woman and the blond-haired teenager, who was such an exact copy of his father.

  
The German counterintelligence wizard shrugged his shoulders. While an  
exhausted Lucius had finally requested an hour of sleep to recover from  
his interrogation under Veritas Serum, he had quickly investigated  
Narcissa Malfoy, born Narcissa Black: She had no criminal file at all.  
She was obviously not a follower of Voldemort herself, although one of  
her cousins - Regulus Black - had been. He had died from the hands of  
Voldemort himself some sixteen years earlier. 

Narcissa had also an elder sister - Bellatrix - in Azkaban and with a Dark Mark on her left forearm and a cousin -Sirius - a convicted mass murderer and  
ex-prisoner of Azkaban on the run from British muggle and wizarding  
authorities alike after his spectacular escape from the heavily guarded  
island prison in 1995.

  
Weigold had also found out that Narcissa's second sister - Andromeda -  
had been disinherited by the Black Family for consorting with and  
marrying a non-wizard, Tom Tonks. They had a daughter -Nymphadora- who  
was a witch and an employee of the British Ministry of Magic.

  
  
Therefore, Narcissa while being the offspring of a family of traditional dark  
wizards and criminals had never ever soiled her own hands in blood and  
crime.  
  
Weigold threw a short glance at the man by his side. 

Lucius stood very still. His steely blue eyes twinkled softly for the first time since  
the German counterintelligence had taken him in a few days ago at  
Koblenz. 

The counterintelligence wizard could not condemn a man, not even a servant of the  
terrorist Voldemort for loving his family and requesting their safety  
before engaging himself in a hazardous and highly dangerous gambit. He  
understood perfectly well that Malfoy would play a clean game for as  
long as he could be 100% sure that Narcissa and Draco were beyond the  
wrath of his terrible and dangerous master.

  
  
'I suppose, Mr.Malfoy, that you feel much better now?' 

Weigold asked Lucius with a smirk.

  
Malfoy nodded. Then, very uncharacteristically for the haughty and  
arrogant wizard, he took his nemesis right hand between both his hands  
and pressed it. 

'Thank you, Weigold! Thank you for keeping my family  
out of harms way. I gave you my word of honor and even if you may have  
a very low opinion of someone 'like me'...I will not play a double  
game on you or betray our deal. You kept your word, I will keep mine!'  
  
The German counterintelligence wizard gave the dark wizard a determined look  
straight into his eyes. 

'This, Mr.Malfoy, I know perfectly well. Now, before I allow you to unite with Lady Malfoy and your son to explain the situation and its consequences, it becomes urgent to enter Phase 2 of our plan. I believe you have to send an urgent message to the Dark  
Lord!'  
  
Lucius nodded and sat down at a small table. Weigold, since he had been  
informed concerning the powers of the Dark Mark, refrained fortunately  
from pronouncing the very name of Lord Voldemort in order not to  
trigger off an ancient and terrible magic residing in the enchanted  
sign of allegiance.

  
It had been decided what Lucius would tell his 'Master' a fairy tale,  
too good to not bit the hook: All funds of Voldemort had been collected  
from the various bank accounts in England, France, Germany and the US.  
The private bankers who kept the German funds had been skillfully placed  
under 'Imperio' to do Lucius' biddings without questioning them. Since  
the bankers had two more clients, Lucius explained that he had to stay  
in Germany for another three or four more weeks simply to make sure  
that one of them -a honorable diamonds merchant - was removed without  
attracting attention. The other client - a muggle arms dealer with a  
very sinister past and history - could be useful for Voldemort's cause  
and Malfoy employed himself to suggested to his 'Master' that turning  
this man into a tool for their cause would be an overall advantage. The  
arms merchant would travel to Germany by the end of August in person  
and Lucius intended to manipulate him into cooperation either by words  
and promises or by spells and potions. 

The dark wizard wrote down his plan for Voldemort in many details, outlining carefully the advantages and inherent logic of every step and the substantial help  
classic ways of muggle terror would provide to the Death Eaters in the  
future. When he was finished with his message he re-read the long  
letter with satisfaction. Everything was perfect and very tasty for a  
power-hungry man who was in need of solid foundations for an  
organization that had been dormant for fifteen years. This letter  
would buy time .........at least.

  
  
Weigold took a huge bird gently from its perch in a corner of the room.  
It was a young, male barn owl, trained by the German  
counterintelligence for special missions. The animals eyes blinked  
lively and intelligent, while he spoke to it in a very low voice. He  
did not need to put a tracking charm on the owl, since Malfoy had  
informed him concerning the Dark Lord's whereabouts already, but he  
wished a complete and neutral picture of Voldemort and the minion  
-Pettigrew - who resided with him in the island manor.  
  
'You must remember every detail, every impression, scent...even the  
faintest reaction, if you have a chance to observe the target while he  
reads this message, Gereint!' 

He told the bird gently. Then he fixed Malfoy's letter with a solid piece of leather to a keenly outstretched claw.

Lucius observed the whole scene with some bewilderment. Although  
himself a powerful dark wizard, he had never seen something like this.  
A human speaking to an animal as if it were an equal and the beast  
obviously understanding every word that was spoken. Was it an  
animagus, a police officer who had taken the form of an owl or had  
these Germans a peculiar breed of magic birds with an enhanced  
intelligence to not only comprehend orders but logically react to them?  
  
'Dr.Weigold!' 

Lucius spoke softly.

'If this should be one of your officers in his animagus form, I must caution you! The Dark Lord will realize this kind of cheating and the man behind the bird will never return back  
home alive. It will equally tell the Dark Lord, that I have been either  
apprehended or turned. In this case my life would be forfeited the  
very moment I return to his side and apart dying with honor in order to ensure the continued security of my wife and son, I could do nothing else for your service.'  
  
Weigold did not reply at first. He padded the head of Gereint before  
releasing the huge bird through an enormous open balcony window into  
the bright, sunny August sky over Old Father Rhine and the breathtaking  
landscape bordering Castle Gutenfels. Finally he turned around to his  
captive with a smile.

  
'I do appreciate your warning; Mr.Malfoy and I have no doubts as to  
your willingness to die with honor! It proves again that you play an honest game of chess with me. Nevertheless, do not fear. I neither intend to send an officer on a suicide mission nor will I blow your 'cover'. This owl has been specially trained, nothing else! He is as much an owl as you and I are wizards, although he was imprinted  
according to the method of the famous Professor Konrad Lorenz. You may  
have heard of him and his experiences with wild geese in the 1960ies.  
We simply applied his methodology on birds of prey and it worked  
out..............if you are interested, I can provide you with a good  
book. Now, we should hurry up and see your wife and son together.  
I presume that after the courtesies you will not mind to allow me to  
share the family lunch on one of the sunny terraces outside. In the  
meantime Gereint can do his job and deliver the missive to 'The One we  
should not name' ...'

  
Malfoy stood up and slit long slender fingers in a careless way through  
his shiny blond hair. He felt fairly relaxed, since he no longer wore  
prisoners' cloths but tasteful muggle trousers and a crisp clean white  
shirt. In a swift movement he took his blazer from the chair next to  
the table. Weigold took his jacket, too and both men left the room.  
There was no need to bind Malfoy or to handle him with a drawn wand.  
The dark wizard was unarmed and Weigold had taken the trouble to test  
him out for wandless magic skills before conceding to a lower level of  
security. The whole castle was staffed with highly skilled  
counterintelligence personnel and police magic and non-magic alike and  
the best experts Germany employed in governmental service had cast heavy anti-apparition wards over the place. The single access road  
from the valley up to Gutenfels was been blocked by the local police  
and an official advertisement announced that the Castle would neither  
receive guests nor visitors because it had been rented out to a private  
company for an event that would last the whole week. 

This was habitual for this famous Rhine-valley attraction and even if  
Voldemort should cast tracking charms on the owl 'Gereint' because he  
was suspicious or felt doubts about his Death Eaters explanations and  
delay in Germany, the Dark Lord would only stumble over a scenery and  
situation that were normal. 

By August 15th Weigold would take his mysterious portkey to an unspecified location -probably in France – in order to meet a certain Professor Severus A.Snape and.................he was fairly sure of it, General Claude Fillon of the French Secret Intelligence Service, while Narcissa and Draco Malfoy would be transferred to a safe house with a new identity and under police protection. 

Lucius himself would start to do what he had  
explained in his message to the Dark Lord -closely surveiled by  
counterintelligence and unable to escape while Weigold would discuss  
with the French. 

He had already made sure with his superiors that he  
could strike a deal with his colleagues from the other side of the  
Rhine and play the 'Voldemort Issue' according to his own intuition and  
plans.  
  
While he and Lucius crossed the castle in companionable silence he  
could not but smile inwardly. From what Malfoy had told him about that  
terrorist Voldemort he was sure that they would do a good deed to the  
whole wizarding Europe by retrieving that dangerous bastard from the  
surface of the Earth!


	56. The Book of Destiny

****

Chapter 55 The Book of Destiny

  
  
Albus Dumbledore smiled sadly when he saw Harry and Severus entering together the small restaurant of the 'Commandement des Operations Speciales'. 

Severus had his hand on Harry's shoulder, the boy looked up to the young druid. Nevertheless, it was neither silly admiration nor a sudden hero-worshipping: Harry's eyes reflected trust and respect for the lder man. They spoke softly. Dumbledore could not make out what they were  
discussing, but both seemed sufficiently hooked not to pay much attention to him and his solitary cup of tea in a corner of the canteen. The old wizard had the strange feeling that somehow during the last night he had lost Harry to his elusive and secretive French godson. After four years of hatred and spite, the two stood together on a solid ground...trust and respect!

  
  
He took another sip of tea and continued his observation: They choose a table out in the open air on the veranda. The NCO who managed the place came with a huge pot of steaming hot coffee, a pot of milk and a plate full of fresh pastries. They had hardly started to wolf down croissants  
and pains au chocolate, when Severus' friend and comrade Damien Tremayne joined them and instantly integrated the conversation with great ease. Harry smiled openly at the second French officer. There was laughter and carefree behavior on both sides. Even Severus habitually  
cold eyes sparkled lively and his gaunt, stern features were much softer then ever at Hogwarts.

  
It did not take long and two more combat fatigues found their way to the table out in the open air: Alain Genty and Yvan Denez Pregent joined. 

A few words made their way over to the Headmaster's table. It was strange. Although the nightly operation at Southwark must have left an impression on all of them, none seemed willing to even tackle the subject...not even Harry!

  
'A gallon for their thoughts, Albus?'

  
Alastor Moody had taken his seat by the Headmaster's side, nudging the old wizard's shoulder comfortingly.

  
'Try to understand and accept, my friend! Wasn't this what you always wanted for him? A substitute for the father he lost too early in life? A role model? Someone to provide him with the necessary guidance while he grows from child to young man!'

  
The one-legged auror took a sip from a can of orange juice the canteen master had thoughtfully placed in front of him. His magic eye for once rested motionlessly in its socket whereas his normal eye observed together with Albus.

  
'Yes Alastor and no! This parting of the ways is hard for an old man who has grown accustomed to a privileged place in that child's heart. Perhaps I should have been more straightforward, blunt and honest! Perhaps I would have served him and me better by telling things as they  
are!'  
  
Moody shook his head. 

'No Albus, you did most of it right...you made only one single mistake...to give the boy to Lily's sister and her fat, nightmarish husband instead of allowing him to France and  
Montmuran.'  
  
'And what would have become of him if I had let him go to Montmuran at once? It was simply too dangerous at that moment!'

  
Moody scowled.

  
'Too dangerous? The situation would be the same as today, only with Harry having been prepared from the cradle off for what has to come. Let me assure you that you still have a big place in the boy's heart. Although he was a bit disappointed with all of us yesterday, full of  
doubts and suspecting that you and I and Fillon were but old, ruthless and cold-blooded bastards! You see, Albus, I believe that he understood somewhere in the middle of this night's strange events that this was not the case. Perhaps Father Le Floa'ch explained something or even Severus  
gave him a hint, when Harry went down to the hangar before they departed for England... We all had to lay our peculiar roles in this game: He, you, I, Sev and his comrades...Look at them carefully and you  
will realize that Harry simply got himself an elder brother...probably even a band of elder brothers. Nothing else.'

  
Dumbledore nodded, but his nod lacked conviction. An elder brother, several elder brothers, who would willingly convene experiences and advice at Harry's request would be a factor he could live with. But the Headmaster doubted that the relationship between Harry and his godson  
would stop there: Severus was extremly hard to manipulate and when he had once made up his mind to do or not to do something, it was impossible to turn him away from a decision taken. In this respect the young one was not much different from either Harry's late father James or his  
godfather Sirius Black, but he lacked the recklessness of the two Marauders. He tended to substitute dashing bravado with silent courage, cold calculation...and with an old-fashioned code of honor!

  
'Alastor!' 

Dumbledore lowered his voice and threw the former Head of Unspeakables a conspirators glance.

'I...have the strange feeling that someone made Harry aware of the Trelawney Prophecies.........someone who believes firmly and in a very stubborn manner that both predictions are nothing more then the worthless haberdashery of a drunken woman!' 

Moody shrugged his shoulders. 

'Why are you so dead frightened of Harry being aware of the contents of the prophecies. If Trelawney was right -as you firmly believe - then he, as the most concerned should at last know what he is up against. That is simply fair and honest.'

  
  
Dumbledore squeezed Moody's arm hard and made him go silent in an instant. The habitually warm and twinkling blue eyes of the Headmaster had turned suddenly to cold steel. 

'Alastor, are you out of your mind? Did you never ever read the first prophecy thoroughly from eginning till end: ,The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have trice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,  
but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not....and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh months dies...'

  
'Indeed Albus, I do know these lines by heart. So what suddenly? This prophecies dates back to 1981 and never ever changed since.' 

Moody's normal eye fixed his lifelong friend Dumbledore, while his magic eye curiously observed the table with Harry and the Fellowship of the Ponytail. It was so easy for him to understand this carefree behavior and cheerful mood over there. In was an effort to mentaly cope with the bloodshed they had been involved in a few hours earlier. He supposed that neither of them had slept in order to prevent having nightmares…they would go without sleeping until they would feel able to sleep soundly from sheer physical exhaustion! 

  
  
'...and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither canlive while the other survives! Alastor, I am afraid that this means that Harry cannot survive Voldemort's demise. The more I think of this  
prophecy, the more I conclude that it is not an 'either-or' situation: In order to destroy the Dark Lord Harry has to go to his own death. Now explain this clearly to a fifteen years old and then expect him to  
continue on his way in order to fulfill his destiny? I kept the information from Harry on purpose, not to upset or to frighten the child. Sometimes, in order to save many, we have to sacrifice a few and  
even those we love. These are the rules of war since the beginning of time. Harry's fate has been written down before he was born. What has been written down in the Book of Destiny cannot be changed by Man!' 

Moody gave a deep sigh. He had a feeling that Dumbledore had become obsessed over the years with the Trelawney Prophecies, putting all his energy into it to make them self-fulfilling. The fight against Voldemort had become a game of chess, Albus playing white and the Dark  
Lord playing black. Each time one placed a pawn on the board the other placed a pawn in reply....the cold logic of a game. Nothing more! 

  
Albus wanted to win, Voldemort wanted to win. It had become a personal struggle between two brilliant minds and neither accepted that the pawns on the chessboard were living, thinking and feeling beings with own ideas about their future and their destiny. Alastor had never  
doubted Tom Riddle being a manipulative bastard, but he had always believed that Albus Dumbledore through his own experiences in the War with Grindlewald had kept a minimum amount of umanity inside, humanity that was not to be overcome by the cold logic of a game of chess. 

Now he understood slowly and painfully that he had been wrong all those years: Both, Voldemort and Albus were cold and manipulative bastards without scruples or doubts, only their aims in life were different: Voldemort aspired to a complete revolution of the political system of  
wizarding England. He wanted to establish a new balance of power, overthrowing the traditional Order of the Phoenix and its hereditary members and replace them with his own Order - the Death Eaters , hese self-styled heirs to Salazar Slytherin's 'Knights of Walpurgis' ...

  
Albus wanted to maintain the old system that excluded Slytherins from the political power in England while outlawing them immediately as genetically dark wizards bound to evil and mischief and impossible to reform and integrate into the average wizard society. Was it not this  
attitude of Slytherin equals Evil that had pushed a young Tom Riddle over the edge and into the claws of Grindlewald, the idealistic philosopher turned crusading warlock in the early days of the Twentieth century?

  
For all Dumbledore's cherishing of half-blood and muggle-born wizards; was this only a cold-blooded effort to broaden the power base of the English wizarding establishment and its highest social level, the hereditary members of the Order of the Phoenix? 

Moody's magical eye concentrated even more on the table on the veranda, where young Potter was happily chatting with Severus, Damien, Yvan and Alain. 

It was interesting: None of these four men in French uniforms would be  
considered a pureblood over in England! 

With a heavy amount of fairy blood from his mother's side and Merlin's Devil's heritage in his veins, Severus would be considered a magical creature under English wizarding law…..close to a unicorn or a phoenix perhaps but still hardly better then the standard house elf or the average vampire. With his ancestry he would never have been able to attend Hogwarts and he would be denied the right to own a wand.

Damien Tremayne's ancestry was similar to Severus' although he lacked the splash of Devil's blood and Alain Genty was an interesting crossbred too, with Heaven knows what magical creatures showing up all over his long family tree. The last of the Fellowship of the Ponytail, Yvan Denez Pregent was the child of a Breton elf - a Korrigan - and a muggle. A closer look at his  
slightly pointed ears gave away his interesting ancestry to knowledgeable  
onlookers, but habitually his long hair hid the ear tips nicely.

  
Minister Delacour's daughter who had attended Hogwarts as the  
Beaubaxton's competitor in the Triwizard Tournament had Veela blood  
from her mother's side and Olympe Maxime was half-giant like Hagrid and  
nevertheless Headmistress of the highly reputed French wizarding school  
close to Fontainebleau..............

They had done their revolution two centuries ago and although it had been a terrible struggle in which  
hundreds of thousands had perished -including innocent bystanders and muggles from all over Europe - it had somehow turned out right. One could claim the same for the Germans, for the Italians, for the Dutch, the Belgians and by now even for the countries of Central and Eastern  
Europe. They had let go a feudalist system in order to embrace republican forms of government for magic and non-magic folks alike. Moreover, those who still had kingly heads of state , like the Scandinavian countries , kept them for show and tradition. 

There was no hereditary institution like the Order of the Phoenix left in whatever European  
country..........they had parliaments and elections...........

Moody shuddered slightly at the thought: The situation was exactly the same in non-magic England! Only the magic England had not managed to follow the changing of the tides and was single-handedly clutching to a system of power that had been established by William Duke of Normandy, when he  
had conquered England in 1066 (1).

  
Could their constant problem with Dark Lords and power struggles lay in this political shortfall and in the dealings of William's Norse wizard advisors with the Anglo-Saxon wizards nobility (2)? The Order of the Phoenix had been their creation and its hereditary members were all  
from the old Norse wizards' families that had come with William over  
from Normandy. The Order traditionally excluded those whose origins went further back in the history of the British Isles and it excluded what remained of the ancient Celtic druid aristocracy of the  
country..........  
  
'No!' 

Alastor murmured to himself. 

'On this I am wrong! They refused to join, since the did not believe in a concentration of power in the hand of an elected few. They were always claiming the balance of powers  
and their political independence. And this was the very reason why Merlin had  
refused to co-operate in the establishment of Hogwarts from the very  
beginning. He had predicted that it would only lead to a rift one day  
or another...a rift between the founders and a rift that would only  
lead to endless struggle and strife.'

  
  
Indeed, the Old One had been right.........the rift had occurred with  
Salazar Slytherin almost exactly at the same moment, when non-magic  
England had been shaken by the death of William the Conqueror and the  
struggle of power between his three sons(3) and until today, with  
almost one thousand years that had gone bye, the situation inside magic  
England was still not stable. 

The heirs of Slytherin fought with the heirs of Gryffindor for the ultimate price of supreme power: While  
Gryffindors always prevailed in the light of the day; Slytherins had thoroughly managed to undermine and shake their bases of power. And now Dumbledore, direct descendant of William FitzOsbern, the most trusted Norse sorcerer of William the Conqueror and who had given his life to  
the King's cause in 1071 at Cassel was trying to force the decision that his ancestor had been unable to force through against Salazar, the one Anglo-Saxon mage who had been able to ingratiate himself with the new Norman power of England.

  
  
Alastor Moody threw a short glance at Albus Dumbledore. The old wizard had kept his silence for a while and was looking absentmindedly at his empty cup of tea. Then with a swift move he pushed his aged frame out of the chair and walked over to the table with the Fellowship of the  
Ponytail and Harry.

  
'Severus, may I have a word with you, please?'

  
'Take a seat, Alastor.' 

The young druid replied with a smile. His mind had been completely taken off the operation at Southwark and all the troubles of life while he was discussing silly things and sailing boats and games of Quidditch and childish pranks with his three comrades and the 'Boy-who-should-keep-his-mind-at-defeating-Voldemort' over coffee and pastries.

  
'Under four eyes!'

  
'Well!' 

Snape excused himself shortly and stood up to follow Moody. They walked from the terrace down to the small garden in front of the old manor of Quérelen.

  
'What is it, Alastor? I am not blind. I saw you and Albus brooding over your teapot, exchanging looks as if the end of the world has come. What happened?' 

  
Although Severus was one hundred percent sure that his strong silencing charm over Harry's room during their nightly chat had prohibited even a powerful wizard like Dumbledore from listening into their conversation, he was also aware that his godfather had other magic means to spy on  
people. Not that he was afraid of the consequences of his openness towards the boy and the revelation of the two Trelawney Prophecies! He was convinced that he had done the right thing and given the boy the right piece of advice for the future. He was only surprised that Albus  
had not come himself in order to confront him.

  
Moody put his hand on the younger man's shoulder and fixed him. His face was serious and his magic eye for once did not move in its socket.

  
'Severus, please give me an honest answer to my question! Was Salazar Slytherin one of the White Brotherhood before he took service with William the Conqueror after the defeat of Harald Hadrada at Hastings?'

  
'What?' 

Snape was completely taken aback and almost choked on the one  
word he spoke in reply to Moody's question. His habitual composure had  
disappeared. He blushed like a teenager and his dark fathomless raven  
eyes suddenly glowed like coal on fire. 

'I do not understand, Alastor!'

  
He pressed these few words through clenched teeth.

  
'Please, Sev! Calm down and simply reply with a 'Yes' or a 'No'! It is really important for me to know and many things depend upon this answer. Trust me, boy! For once in your life, trust someone who is not of your own blood.' 

Although Moody's voice had been very calm and controlled, his normal eye betrayed compassion and his scar-ridden ugly face flew over with strange emotions that rated from fear to hope. It had cost the old auror a lot to allow the young man to look straight into his remaining human eye and -if Severus chose so - to penetrate his mind and read it at will. But for a reason unknown to Alastor the young druid decided to refuse the proposal and not to invade his mind with Legilemency.  
  
'He was, Alastor! Nevertheless, they expelled him four hundred years before the  
Norman Conquest, when Arthur Pendragon became King of Upper and Lower Britain. I do not know the reason why. I do not know...none of the White Brotherhood does. Only Merlin!'  
  
'And the Dark Lord? Do you know if he is truly a Heir to Salazar Slytherin?'

  
Again Snape shook his head.

  
  
'No, I cannot tell you, Alastor and I am not even sure that Merlin can answer this question. Back there in the Dark Ages when Arthur retrieved the Sword of Power from the Stone to fight the invasions of Evil nobody kept records of family lines...legends yes, but facts? The Gods may know who is the heir of Salazar and who is the heir of Goddric, but neither man nor wizard can ever tell. The same goes for the two other founders, Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw: Legend claim that  
Helga was Gryffindor's mate, while Rowena chose to share Salazar's bed for a while........................legend, Alastor! Those times of old saw many strange things, the veil between the three Worlds was thin and no frontier existed between Man and Magic. These times are gone bye and  
we are living in another world today. I do not think that it is important, who is heir to whom and who can claim this or that ancestor. All that is important today is to prevent unnecessary bloodshed and a conflict that may get out of control if a creature like 'You-know-who' succeeds with his master plan and grand strategy.'

  
'How?'  
  
Snape shrugged his shoulders. 'Time will show, Alastor. Let us get on  
with what we have started. Maybe we are wrong and at the end we will  
fail. Maybe we are right and we prevail. Prophecies are one fine thing, but  
in the end there is nothing written down for sure in the Book of Destiny!'  
  


* * *

  
(1)About 1065, the powerful English noble, Harold, earl of Wessex, was shipwrecked on the Norman coast and taken prisoner by William, released only when he swore support to William's claim to the throne. When King Edward died, however the royal council (witenagemot) , elected Harold  
as King. William secured the sanction of Pope Alexander II for a Norman invasion of England. William and his army landed at Pevensey on September 28th , 1066. On October 14th the Normans defeated the English forces at the Battle of Hastings, where Harold was lain. William then  
proceeded to London, crushing any resistance which he encountered on the way. On Christmas day he was crowned King of England in Westminster Abbey. William met opposition as the English would not accept foreign rule without a struggle, which was particularly violent in the North  
and West, William, therefore, is responsible for devastation of great areas of the country. In particular, Yorkshire, where Danish forces arrived to aid the Saxon rebels. By 1070, the Norman conquest of  
England was complete. William invaded Scotland in 1072 and forced the Scottish King Malcolm III Mac Duncan to pay him homage. During the succeeding years William crushed insurrections among his Norman followers, included the one incited by Ralph de Guader, first Earl of  
Norfolk and Roger Fitzwilliam, earl of Hereford in 1075, and a series of uprisings in Normandy, led by his eldest son, Robert II , duke of Normandy.

  
William the Conqueror's achievements include the re-organization of the English feudal and administrative systems. He dissolved the great earldoms, which had enjoyed virtual independence under his Anglo-Saxon predecessor, and distributed the lands confiscated from the English to  
his trusted Norman followers. He introduced the continental system of feudalism; by the oath of Salisbury in 1086 all landlords swore allegiance to William thus establishing the precedent that a vassals loyalty to the King overrode his fealty to his immediate lord. The feudal lords were compelled to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the local courts which William retained along with many Anglo-Saxon institutions. The ecclesiastical and secular courts were separated, and the power of the papacy in English affairs was greatly curtailed. another outstanding accomplishment was the economic survey undertaken and incorporated in the Doomsday Book in 1086.

  
  
(2)As soon as he was secure in his new kingdom William dispossessed the Anglo-Saxon nobility, and granted castles and landed estates, 'fiefs' or 'honors', to the leading Norman barons. In return they paid homage to the king, promised to be faithful to him and provided him with  
military service. There was a similar relationship between the barons and their own knights. In theory landholdings were not hereditary, the heir of a dead man having to pay to take it over, but inheritance by the first born son soon became commonplace.

  
To prevent any individual baron becoming too strong and establishing a regional base for rebellion William ensured that their possessions were scattered over different parts of the country. On the Welsh border, or 'March', the earls of Chester, Hereford and Shrewsbury were given larger landholdings than most other barons as they needed to raise sufficient forces to defend England against the Welsh.

  
  
(3)The death of William was followed by serious events in England and Normandy alike. The great Norman barons tried to extract themselves from the authority of William Rufus under the pretext of supporting the birthright of Robert Curthose. In fact they hoped for greater autonomy  
from a more distant and more dilute authority, but William Rufus firmly established his government of England and drove out the insurgents. His reign was characterized by the Norman expansion at the Scottish and Welsh borders, but also by troubled relations with the Church, especially with Anselm of Bec, Archbishop of Canterbury from 1092 to 1098. Robert, for his part was unable to keep control over his Duchy which was subject to revolts by the powerful and by numerous private  
wars. In 1090 the capital of Normandy, Rouen itself, rose up against the Duke. The third son of William, Henry took advantage of these circumstances to first establish himself in Cotentin and subsequently in the Domfront region where he built the first square keep (1092).

  
The disorders in Normandy were such that William Rufus was called upon to intervene on two occasions. The first time was in 1091, when he allied himself with Robert against their brother Henry. The second time, in 1094, he reversed this alliance and provided Henry with the  
resources with which to attack Robert.


End file.
